by Noah Barnett
"Not good," thought Charlie. "If I get put on call, my commission rate will drop to almost nothing." He adjusted his tie again while he gathered his thoughts.
"It's pretty hard out there with the recession. None of the others are pulling the numbers they used to."
"True, but that also means we can't afford to keep you on. I've seen you sell a luxury SUV to a stubborn mule-headed miser. I know you have what it takes, so why aren’t you doing better?"
His mind reeled. Someone had snuck up behind Charlie and smashed him upside the head with a bat called Epiphany.
"I see from the look on your face that I'm getting through to you," The older man said with a smile. The fool was such an ass. He had, however accidentally, stumbled into Charlie's darkened mind and flipped the right switch.
"Why didn't he do better?" Charlie asked himself. All his life he'd done just enough to get by and no more. He wanted out of the office so he had time to consider what was happening. It was as if the veil over his eyes had lifted, and the fog in which he dwelled was slowly dispelling.
"Give me a chance," he begged.
"That's why I called you in here. You have a week before I drop you."
"Thanks for the heads up," Charlie replied standing.
"A week? The reprieve was so pathetically small as to be almost pointless, but there was always a chance." Charlie thought.
He left the office and walked to his desk. For a few minutes, he sat not doing anything at all. The world was suddenly different. Everything looked brighter, sharper, and more colorful than before, and it wasn't the morning sun coming through the windows. Charlie’s world perspective had shifted in the last few minutes.
His first thoughts, strangely enough, were of Gun Meister. He wondered why he hadn't done better in game. All yesterday Charlie had practiced his marksmanship. He'd used hours of time and several hundred credits on training. That still didn't excuse the stupid mistakes he'd made in the matches. He realized only now he hadn't been thinking. Charlie was by nature a lazy man, he could admit that. Like a river, he always took the path of least resistance. His one competition match had scared him enough that he fled to casual. There he'd only met with more skilled players. Yesterday he'd wasted most of his credits at the range. He needed to think more, and act less.
Finally he forced himself back into the present. Charlie was in danger of getting canned if he didn't improve quickly. From his desk he watched the other agents talking to the customers. Each one had their own distinct style he realized.
Chad was deeply engrossed with a young couple across from Charlie. The younger man never shut up. In his mind's eye, Charlie could see Chad closing in on the young duo. The imaginary sub-machine gun in his hands was continuously chattering. It didn't even matter what Chad said, so long as he didn't stop. The point obviously was to keep the marks talking and not able to consider how ridiculously high those interest rates actually were.
Frank walked past the front doors. His eyes were locked onto an elderly woman in a decade old summer dress. He was like an unscrupulous assassin. Using misdirection to trick the customers into looking at something else. Only then did he slip the knife in unseen. Except in Frank's case, it was the car's faulty alternator or a bad transmission. Charlie felt a moment of disgust as the man got within range of that older female. She smiled up at him like a doe in his headlights.
Jennifer was sitting at her desk with her new award proudly displayed. She'd even gotten a frame for it which had certainly cost more than the useless piece of paper it was printed on. Jen was akin to that smurf in his first competition match. All she had to do was walk down the street scanning for enemies, and suckers would leap after Jennifer hot for some attention. That was why she targeted single men coming onto the lot. Natural marks, ones that spent more time hitting on her than reading the loan agreement they were signing.
He needed a new style. Charlie didn't have tits so using his good looks was unlikely. Not unless a string of desperate gay men strolled onto the lot. Neither was he ruthless enough to shovel garbage cars. He would never be a talker like 'Chattering Chad.' That took too much energy even to watch. For a time, he considered what to do. While thinking a husband and wife drove onto the lot with a hybrid convertible sports car. Charlie forced himself from the chair and out the front doors. He caught a piece of their conversation as he neared.
"I don't know babe. These get terrible mileage per kilowatt." The man was saying.
"We need something for the baby, and for the future." The wife replied a little tartly. Charlie stopped a few feet away.
"Good morning, can I help you?" The husband turned with a look that wasn’t entirely friendly.
"We're checking out our options, thank you." He said motioning Charlie away.
"My husband wants to trade in his car for something more family friendly," she said. The van she was looking at was a soccer mom's wet dream. Fold out seats, lots of room in the back for groceries, and it even had a luggage rack for trips to the park.
Charlie glanced at the husband whose face was stony. The car they’d come in with was an expensive electric sports car. It was red, of course it was red. Charlie suspected he understood the situation now. The wife married the guy for his money and his fast car. Now that she had the ring, and a baby on the way. She wanted the sports car gone. Mr. Husband though, was kicking tires and finding things wrong with the vehicles. Charlie didn't blame the guy. The car, brand new would be sixty-thousand dollars, and even ten years old, the bluebook was a good 24k in trade.
"How about this," Charlie said to the couple. "Instead of trading in the car for a new van, you can get a used one for a third the price."
"We just bought a home so we don't have much for down payment." The wife said quickly. Charlie nodded and plowed ahead.
"You don't need a down payment for a used car. We finance everything. That way your husband keeps his vehicle for work and you get a family van for the important stuff." Charlie said with burgeoning appeal. He smiled at the two. The woman grimaced as she glanced towards the used car lot. Her face looked skeptical but the husband latched onto the idea.
"Honey, think about it. This way there will be two cars. You don't have to wait for me to get home to go shopping." He said wrapping an arm around her shoulders. He turned guiding the woman towards the used lot, and Charlie followed on his heels.
"That guy really wanted to keep his hot little convertible," Charlie thought to himself.
"This is the same model van that you were just looking at. It's only three years old and has very low mileage.” He said stopping next to a vehicle.
"It's used though," the wife argued.
"Everything is rigorously maintained by our service team. The used van is twenty-two thousand dollars less and there's no down payment." He said and the husband was already nodding in agreement. The interest rate was going to be a killer but he could handle it. Charlie had a sale, and it hadn't taken much convincing. He led the two into the air conditioned building, and settled both at his desk. The couple signed the loan agreement and Charlie handed over the keys.
Both cars left the lot. That was exactly what he should have been doing. Look for a way in, push in hard, and get the sale. He sold two more cars that day which was much better than usual.
He logged in just after five in the evening. Elva lay atop him like usual but he didn't have time for her shenanigans today. Quickly he gathered the cleaning equipment, extra clothes, and ammo together in the shopping bags. "Come on," he said pulling open the door and heading downstairs. The lobby was empty and he tossed the hotel key onto the desk as he went by. The city was busy with people just getting off work. Cars and motorcycles roared by on the way to the competition center, and Charlie joined the pedestrian throng heading in that direction.
"Are you angry with me?" Elva asked two steps behind. He stopped mid-stride perplexed by the question.
"What?"
"Your face is set and grim. Are you angry because I hurt you?" Elva a
sked nervously. For a few seconds he continued to stare at her until realization dawned. Last night he'd tried introducing her to the pleasures of oral sex with disastrous results.
"Ahh, well… I did tell you to treat it like a Tootsie-pop. Little did I know you'd lick it three times before biting into the chewy center." He said reaching out a hand. She smiled sheepishly as he patted her on the head. "No, I'm not angry with you, but next time don’t use your teeth. If I am upset, it's at myself." He said and continued walking.
Within minutes he neared the Competition Center and joined the crowd heading inside. Memorial weekend was over so the free ammo was gone. The crowd split apart. Most of the people made for the training areas while the rest went towards the large public lounge. Several bars were set up so people could watch the matches in progress, but most like him were heading straight to the terminals. There was an open console and he activated it with his palm.
[Character Stats]
[Competition Matches]
[Casual Match]
[Custom Casual Matches]
The screen flashed with the available choices, and he selected a competitive match. ‘Quick Deathmatch’ came up, and he hit accept.
"Enter Lobby 157," it stated and he moved to the elevator. The private room was empty and he was forced to wait while the rest of the players gathered. Elva sat nearby on the couch. Charlie was still irritated at the way he’d been living, but that was no reason to take it out on her. He shifted closer wrapping an arm around her waist. Two players entered next and moved to the far wall.
Elva leaned in and whispered, "I'll do better next time."
"I know you will," he said patting her side. "Weapon form," he added as the next person entered. She started to glow and a pistol was soon laying in his lap. Charlie checked her load, then holstered the weapon. As the final player entered, everything faded into darkness.
[Match Starting]
A seagull flew past in a squawking clatter of feathers. His foot slipped on the slimy deck plating, and he quickly grabbed a nearby railing to keep his footing. After collecting himself he scanned the area. It appeared Charlie was standing on the prow of a derelict cargo ship. The vessel was beached and listed awkwardly to one side. Many of the shipping containers had broken their cables and fallen below. Televisions, stuffed toys, and decomposing commercial goods were half buried in the sand. The containers left on the deck formed a disjointed maze of alleys.
“Ok, enough gawking,” he reprimanded himself. Charlie had people to kill, so he withdrew the 1911 and slid the safety off. For once luck was on his side with a good starting position. Spawning on the prow meant he could be reasonably certain nobody was behind him. Just in case he glanced over the railing and scanned the beach searching the jumble of rusting containers. Nothing moved except seagulls and a few sand crabs. In the distance, the red line curved in a giant circle around the ship. His examination of the area was cut short by gunfire. A distant series of pops indicated the actual beginning of the match.
He moved slowly into the entrance of the maze. Several container doors hung open swinging slowly in the sea breeze. Years of rain, mold, and bird droppings formed a dark slime over the deck. A pair of footprints appeared halfway down the row. Charlie glanced back seeing that he too was leaving a trail, so there was no point in camping unless you started in a covered position.
The footprints of the other player disappeared into a nearby container. Keeping his pistol aimed at the entrance he advanced. Charlie took his time. At the first open door he paused to check inside. It held a dusty disused sports car, but was otherwise empty. Finally, after a full minute he arrived outside the container the prints led to. The doors were partially open, and Charlie was tempted to wait the guy out, but the red line was already halfway to the ship. He paused listening at the door, then smiled, and almost laughed from what he heard. Whoever was inside the container was breathing so hard it sounded like a bad horror movie.
"These guys are just as scared as me," he thought to himself. That made him feel a little better.
Reaching out with the pistol he used the barrel to knock on the red container door. Charlie quickly pulled back when thirteen bullet holes appeared in the metal as the player inside unloaded. There was a long lull and he dodged across the gap to the other side. As Charlie did so, he glanced in. A red Ferrari was parked inside and strapped tightly down. Dust and bird droppings covered the once immaculate paint job. Behind the vehicle a man was crouched desperately trying to reload. After a second he straightened and aimed across the car trunk. Charlie did laugh this time. He couldn't help it, for he found the scene strangely funny.
"Why the hell are you laughing?" The man asked from inside the shadowed container.
"I was just thinking you trapped yourself in there. What are you going to do when the red line comes?" Charlie asked in a friendly voice. He stepped into the cover of another open container to wait.
"Screw you!"
"Just pointing out your dilemma," Charlie replied crouching lower. There might still be others nearby and he didn't want to get target fixated again. For almost a minute there was nothing but the stiff sound of the sea breeze. Like usual, the other players were camping until the buzzer sounded, which gave him time to chat. He reached out tapping the door again with his gun.
"Hello?" Charlie asked politely but was met with angry silence. From within the container feet shuffled, and the sound came close to the door. Charlie remained where he was half hidden in his own container. After a few seconds, he heard the player retreat to the car again.
"Fuck, fuck, shit…" The man muttered to himself. Charlie felt bad for the guy. It was such a simple mistake and now he was paying for it. Another minute passed as the man cursed to himself.
"How about you bugger off?" A hoarse voice asked.
"Afraid I can't leave you behind me. We gotta settle this first." Charlie replied. Somewhere above a buzzer went off. Half the time remained and the red line would start moving faster. Several gunshots rang out close by, and Charlie perked up as the noise was only a row or two away. Behind him the red line appeared through the back of the container. He stood, moved out into the open, and slowly shuffled backward up the aisle toward the next row.
A face appeared in the entrance of the container. Charlie raised his gun aiming down the sights, but before he could fire it retreated. As he waited, the red line advanced slowly across the aisle. From inside the container there was a muffled pop followed by the sound of a body hitting the ground.
"Really?!"
The guy did himself in rather than take the fight, so Charlie was robbed of his kill reward. The red line pushed forward and he walked stealthily down the row of closed containers. Now he just had to worry about the people ahead of him, and there was at least one person close by. That was small consolation considering the barrier was right on his heels.
At the next open aisle several sets of footprints led inside. About ten feet in the paths branched and each trail diverged. The left headed towards the prow, but the red line already closed that way off. Charlie was forced right and he walked to the next turn. There a body was laying next to an open container door. It was female, but surprisingly little was left of the face. Carefully he opened the door next to the body. Just inside a few shell casings marked where the ambusher had stood. Somewhere amid the container maze a gun battle erupted, and it sounded like multiple parties were involved in a cascade of fire.
The red line was closing in quickly, and Charlie was in danger of getting boxed into a dead end. He picked up the pace following the trail of footprints. More gunfire rang out nearby, and he stopped short of the next turn. The maze ended in an open platform. Sticking out of the center were the pillars of a massive rusted crane. A boom arm lay broken across the deck like a severed appendage. Twenty feet ahead a tall blond man crouched behind the steel pillar. He was in full view and an easy target.
The player poked his head around the pillar looking across the deck. He raised an FN Five-Se
ven and shot several rounds at something. Charlie ducked back behind the corner as two people returned fire. He considered his options. Charlie had done a lot of skulking around and very little killing, however, that meant he still had a full loadout. Likely he would have to reload quickly after he made his move. With that in mind, he removed one of the extra magazines and held it in his off hand.
There was less than five minutes left in the round and the boundary was an ever-present concern. Still, he waited while the players in the middle continued to exchange shots. Glancing back around the corner, Charlie found the blond crouched low to the ground, saving his last few rounds for the final push. The weapon trembled in the man’s large Germanic hands, and Charlie glanced at his own pistol. It was perfectly still, and pointing towards the ground. His heart rate was up and adrenaline coursed through his veins, but he was managing.
Charlie slipped around the corner with the pistol held in one hand. Raising the sights up he targeted the man's back. The gun bucked as the first round slammed into the target. He jerked sideways in surprise and tried to return fire, but Charlie walked forward firing several more rounds. Two of his three shots hit center mass, and the player sagged to the ground. Someone else fired at him and a bullet hit the cargo container next to his left arm. Near the broken boom, a girl was aiming at him. Charlie returned fire by instinct as he dashed the final distance to the pillar. Tilting the gun, he pressed the magazine release with his thumb. The empty box slid free and he replaced it with the extra in his hand. The used one, he slid into a slot on his dump pouch.
