Sociopath by Victor Methos Page B

and the occasional ding of the stupid trolley they had going up and down the street. From the office all I heard were phones ringing and people talking. It was annoying me enough that I thought about opening the door and shouting at them to shut the fuck up.
    Taking several deep breaths, I decided it was better if I just left for the day. Getting up and opening the door, I walked into the first office I saw. It was owned by a pudgy man with glasses I knew as Hank or Henry. An analyst. A position that every Ivy League graduate would sell their own mothers for.
    “Hank, how are ya?” I said, sitting down.
    “It’s actually Harold, Mr. Fischer.”
    “I prefer Hank,” I said with a smile. “Listen, there’s no easy way to say this so I’m just going to come right out with it. We don’t feel you’re contributing to our team in the manner we expect at this point in your career. We’re letting you go.”
    All color left his face and I had to suppress a grin.
    “You’re firing me?” he gasped.
    “Yes.”
    Tears came to his eyes. This was too funny. He leaned back in his chair and his belly thrust out of his shirt and I could see that one of the buttons was undone.
    “I just got promoted like two months ago.”
    “An oversight that I’m fixing now. You’re just not good at your job, Hank. And, between me and you, some of the girls have complained about your … well, your hygiene habits.”
    “Like what?”
    “They said you smell and you’re typically not pleasant to look at.”
    “What? Who said that? I don’t smell.”
    I rose. “Get your things and get out, I don’t want to have to call security. And Hank, if it makes you feel any better, you’ve put a smile on my face.”
    Walking out of the office I saw Karen sobbing in the break room. I thought about stopping and saying something but I felt good. I wanted to be out with her .
    I only knew her first name was Amanda and she was waitressing while she worked her way through school at Brigham Young University. Her major was education and she wanted to be a teacher for disabled children, or some other idiotic crusade.
    I went across the street to Café Molisse and stepped inside and saw her across the restaurant. She was helping four fags in biking clothes, one of them still wearing his helmet like a retard. I felt like taking a hammer and bashing through it and showing him his brains. Picturing it made me laugh out loud. The elderly woman standing next to me was glaring and she turned away and put some distance between us.
    The four fags looked down her shirt when she bent over the table. As she left they began talking about it. I stormed over there.
    “Hi,” I said. They didn’t respond.
    “Do we know you?” one of them said.
    “No, but if you look at her tits that way again I’m going to rip out your eyeballs and skull-fuck you.”
    “What? Fuck you, buddy.”
    I walked away. No use arguing in here. I glanced out the window and saw their bikes on the rack outside. I would just grab some coffee and go wait in my car. When they took off down the street, I’d follow them until we got to a secluded area and just take them out with my car. I was driving the Maserati today; it would get damaged but it would be worth it.
    “Hi Tom,” she said .
    “Hey. You look nice for this early in the morning.”
    “Oh, thanks. You’re so sweet.”
    “So any big plans for the weekend?”
    “Just hanging out with my boyfriend and watching movies.”
    Boyfriend. I hadn’t seen him. I didn’t let my face show anything other than a smile. “Sounds like fun. You guys hanging out at his house?”
    “No, I’m housesitting for my friend Michelle this weekend. They got that big cabin up there by Wolf Mountain.”
    “The one with the tennis courts?”
    “Yeah, isn’t it awesome?”
    I smiled wider. “It is.”
    “So what can I get you?”
    “Huh?”
    “To drink. The usual? Non-fat latte with sugar substitute and an apple?”
    “You know me well.”
    She