Mackus Mahoney was alone at the front security desk of the building.
His claim for brain damage in the first Gulf War had been rejected
twice by the Department of Veterans Affairs. All he had keeping him
afloat was the nine dollars an hour he got from his guard job and the
discount whiskey he swilled to chase away memories of bad dreams.
He rubbed his troubled scull as the tell-tale signs of approaching
migraine advanced. Suddenly he was struck by blindness. He kept
himself under control. The blindness should be temporary, he
believed, though knowing where the maintenance painters kept a jug
of turpentine seemed a mighty tempting treat at the moment. Beads
of perspiration gathered on his forehead. He sensed someone
approaching. He could not sense that the person was clothed in a
diving mask and flannel nightgown.
"Excuse me, but I have to make a security deposit; and I'm in a bit of a
rush..."
Mahoney was conned by the entrepreneurial accent. --The
businessman's tones. Had he been more adept at accents, he could
have sensed: loser; but he wasn't that adept. He pointed in the
direction of the left-bank elevators. "First elevator, second floor, third
door on your right."
Onlookers seeing the nightgown-apparition receiving guidance from
security concluded that this was an actor to be used in a promotion or
presentation.
Well that's the story of how a huge turd was deposited into the wiring
closet on the second floor and subsequently knocked the Internet
routers out of action in the financial district for 24 hours. That was
how the insane trades made by the Creative Derivative Arbitrage Fund
went unchallenged until its un-fulfillable obligations equaled the
yearly domestic output of the United States and Albania combined.
***
HOME
Channel49.net
