Chapter Two: A slightly warmer wind blows.
Steven Boll Weevil sat at his mahogany desk. It was a large desk and smelled great when wet, which it never was, but everyone knew it would. Steven Boll Weevil thought nasty things about people almost all the time.
“That is why I do evil things…”’ he had concluded one day over a Westem Slam and never looked back.
Steven Boll Weevil was slightly narcoleptic and liked to throw odd words into the middle of his sentences to throw people off then suffer a narcoleptic attack and let them sort things out on their own. Steven Boll Weevil dreamed of one day being president of the world. Or maybe king, he hadn’t decided yet. Either way he had a plan going for it already.
Steven Boll Weevil was not a tall man, but not short either; he was fond of monocles and almost always wore one, and all those who knew him considered him scruffy and lank. Steven Boll Weevil favoured Afros and rainbow striped ponchos were his standard wardrobe. Steven Boll Weevil was a genius.
“What do you want?“ Steven barked at Girkin as he strode casually into his office (unlike the library, we can safely say his office is in Brazil). Girkin was Steven‘s top adviser to the criminal underworld, and also his accountant.
“The new recruit is here to see you sir,” said Girkin tartly.
“Well, send the lad in then, what’s his name again? I seem to have forgotten.”
“Jimmy sir, Jimmy Hollywood. He recently gave up a life as a teen heartthrob in Los Angeles to come down here and serve, what he calls, a greater good,” said Girkin as he read it off a printout.
“Sounds like my kind of lad, send him in,” said Steven boisterously.
“Very good sir,” said Girkin as he walked out, Steven heard some yelling, and a minute later Jimmy walked in.
“Ah hello Mr. Hollywood, good to finally meet the face that…uh…” Steven nonchalantly looked at the printout that Girkin had left on his desk, “…that has come down here to serve, what he calls, a greater good…I mean what YOU call a greater good, of course.”
“BOOOOOYEAAAAA!!!” yelled Jimmy, as be pumped his arms in the air as if he was running.
“Okayummm you do realize the situation and critical stage our operation is now at, don’t you?”
“SSSCCOOOOOOORRRREE!!!” yelled Jimmy, licking his lips, and rubbing his chest vigorously.
“Exactly! It is a score I wish to settle with a world that turned its back on me, cursed me with narcolepsy and an almost constant diet roller coaster,” said Steven, pouring his heart out.
“COME ON DOWN!”
Yes. I will. I will come on down on all those who oppose me, they will rue the day they heard the name STEVEN BOLIL WEEVIL!
“STRIKE ONE UP!”
“Oh, I will. I will indeed. They will never know what hit them. Not until I tell them, and by then it will be too late.“ Steven sighed, “You know, I claim it’s the narcolepsy but I think it’s more than that.“
“SCRUUJUUUU?’” inquired Jimmy.
“Yes… I think I blame my mother most of all, her and that damn sailor who used to come by and show me sunsets and buy me toys.”
“COLD READING!” said Jimmy, taken aback.
“Oh it was at that my friend. It was at that. My life is a twist of tales sewn together by my unrelenting hatered for one thing and one thing only; The Earth! As it stands there is only one obstacle in my path… Lance Salstone…kind of.”
“BOOYEAAHH!“ said Jimmy in a knowing kind of way.
“Yes. I hear he was asking around about the file. well…l can‘t have that can I? No. the answer is no I can’t, and I won’t. Rumour has it that he was asking Vick about the envelope, luckily Vick is a master improviser and threw him off the track, but I don’t know if my luck will continue. Most likely won’t. You know, Jimmy, I like you. You‘re very soothing.”
“SCCOORRRE!” said Jimmy embarrassedly.
“No, really. I think that I will make you my personal advisor, yes that‘s what I’ll do, you are now my personal advisor!” Steven hit an intercom switch, “Girkin, would you come in here please.”
A minute latter Girkin came in and found Steven and Jimmy in a teary embrace, Jimmy left with a sad ‘HEADSHOT’ and Steven told him not to look back.
“Yes, sir?” asked Girkin after that had all ended.
“Jimmy is to be my new personal advisor, I want you to set him up in the office next to mine,” Steven said as he wiped away some tears.
“But sir… that’s my office!” exclaimed Girkin.
“I will not tolerate mutiny Girkin! No more arguments!”
“But sir, I must protest! Jimmy is an idiot, he doesn’t know ten words if he knows a hundred, and he yells! Constantly!”
“I found him quit pleasant, really,” replied Steven.
“Mr. Weevil, with all due respect I-”
“Please,” interrupted Steven, “don’t make this difficult Girkin.”
“I’m not trying to-”
“ALABASTER!” yelled Steven and fell to his desk dead asleep.
“Well that just takes the pickle.” said Girkin, and walked out the door.
Steven Boll Weevil slept a dream filled sleep, one filled with Scottish women and a baby bear. Pints of ale and constant bitch slappings. It was his dream world. A world that he would create and carve into his graven image. It was his legacy to his son which he didn’t have and would never have due to a non existent sperm count, so it was more for him and whoever wanted it after he was done with it and maybe some for Girkin. He was Steven Boll Weevil and his desk was mahogany!
Girkin walked quickly down the corridor towards the main meeting chamber, he was upset and rightfully so. He had just shown that idiot Jimmy Hollywood to his new office, an office formally occupied by him. Girkin had spent the last six years of his life helping and serving Steven and Steven simply refused to either acknowledge his efforts or give him any form of respect whatsoever. Girkin ran the show, or so he thought, but in fact Steven ran the show entirely and quite well indeed. His stupidity was a very clever front meant to both annoy and drive Girkin in his task. How this was achieved is anybody’s guess. Girkin was a tall man, and gangly, he was also balding. He was a tall gangly balding man who had work to do, work that would take his mind off this nonsense…for a little while at least, and he would do it with gusto. When he arrived at the chamber he saw that a meeting had been called, a meeting that he was strangely unaware of.
“What‘s going on here? Where’s Mr. Weevil?”
“He’s still asleep.”
“So why are you all in here then?” asked Girkin suspiciously, he knew the answer already but just didn’t think this would be happening so soon.
“We just called the first ‘talk about how much you love Steven Boll Weevil, and how you would give your life for him’ meeting,” said Mekoli.
At that moment two things happened; Girkin let out one of the most over exaggerated sighs in the history of exaggerated sighs, and the other was Jimmy came into the room.
“PER DIEM?” inquired Jimmy as he sat down in Girkins chair.
“Hello Jimmy, I guess it’s about time I introduced you to the rest of the team here at SANSPANSIVE INC.” said Girkin tiredly.
“No, SANSPANSIVE INC. is our front company, it mostly produces feminine hygiene products out of Ottawa, Canada. These are its hidden faces. First we have Mekoli Renjaika, a disgruntled Norseman who gets his kicks from cardboard cutouts of Jenny McCarthy; he’s also a nuclear weapons expert and an all around gentleman. Next, and to his left, is our resident geneticist, who just so happens to be cooking something up really neat for our friend Mr. Salstone, his name is Walker, an ex Texas Ranger. Next is Lola the sexy French maid. Her specialty is seduction and suction. Finally we come to our most lethal assassin. He, like you, comes from Los Angeles. His name? John Lovitz.”
Girkin sighed. He wanted out of there and was willing to rush these introductions which he usually prided himself on being able to stretch out for several days if necessary.
“Hi there!” They all said in unison and with smiles that were a little too wide.
“SCOOREEE!” Replied Jimmy shyly. Girkin rolled his eyes and left before he could get drawn into this idiotic discussion.
Giirkin made his way down to the sub level on the last floor of the initial sub floors but not the final sub floor which is were he was going now. On his way down he thought about getting a sensual massage from a blonde Asian. A man stood in the darkness at the end of the sub-sub; a pale blue light bathed over him like it was coming from a pale blue bathtub of water, which is exactly what he was standing next to. Girkin approached him with a little unease in his step.
“How are things? How are you?” he asked, not comfortable in this part of the complex.
“Oh fine, just fine. If you like sitting next to a damn blue tub of genetic goo all day long ‘oh look at me, I’m a geneticists assistant! Wow, I’m sooo lucky!’ What kind of stupid ass question is that anyway? Of course I‘m not fine, I’ve got more radiation in my feces than the entire state of…of…of a state that has a lot of radiation. ‘Oh, look at me, I‘m important, l’m Steven Bowevil’s personal link to the crime world and accountant! That means I can ask stupid ass questions!’ Get off my back Girkin!” replied Walkers Assistant.
“Right…So what still needs to be done?” asked Girkin, a little intimidated by Walkers Assistant. Girkin was generally a soft spoken, hateful thinker. Walkers Assistant was quite the opposite.
“What needs to be done? What needs to be done? What kind of stupid ass question is that anyway? I’ll tell you what needs to be done, what needs to be done is you got to get your boney ass out of my damn Sub basement! Well…not mine…but Walkers…look, Stay Puffed, just because Walker grew me in a lab to be his assistant doesn’t mean you can ask me stupid ass questions you know! You want to know what needs to be done? Nothing needs to be done! We’re as ready as a whore on mothers day and we’re rip farting ready to go!”
“So why hasn’t it been done? We’re on a tight schedule here.” demanded Girkin in a meek undemanding kind of voice.
“What kind of stupid ass question is that? We still need a test subject! And as soon as Walker gets one we’ll be on our way, Stupid fancy-dancer faggoty boy. I SPIT AT YOU!”
He spit, and Girkin ran.
TO BE CONTINUED…