A Frustrating Job

A crime drama with an ironic twist that makes you cringe and laugh at the same time.

Wiping the knife clean, he carefully stepped over the body. Jonathan regarded the former Secretary of State lying on the ground and groaned: blood was getting all over the carpet. This part of the job could be frustrating. From outside the room music began to play signaling the opening ceremonies of the White House dinner. Jonathan had to hurry up if he was going to make it out of there in time. Suddenly, a knock on the door pulled his attention away from the ruined carpet. “Who is it?”

A tentative voice came through the door. “It’s Lacy,”

Jonathan walked over and opened up the door for her. “Oh, hello Lacy, how are you?”

“I’m actually looking for my husband right now, have you seen him recently?” Jonathan shifted his head to glimpse the man sprawled out a few feet behind him.

“Yes, actually, he’s in here.” Jonathan answered, moving aside so she could see her husband’s body on the floor. Lacy gasped and crashed to her knees, shrieking between sobs, “Oh my… Albert…what…” She looked up at Jonathan, “What happened? Why aren’t you going to get help?” Jonathan passed her a tissue. “Please don’t get tears on the carpet, Lacy, it’s going to be difficult enough getting out the bloodstains.” She gazed up at him, choking on her tears, unable to swallow the sadness. Pulling ear buds out of his pocket, Jonathan walked over sat down on the leather couch in the corner of the room and let his Beatles playlist mute Lucy’s sobs. He muttered, “Seriously though, I love that carpet.” She looked over at him and screamed, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Jonathan furrowed his eyebrows and leaned towards Lucy. “Let’s not get rude. You were the one who came knocking on the door after all; you asked to see your husband.” He leaned back again and put his feet up on the red, leather couch and looked around at the pictures of Heads of State, diplomats, and foreign monarchs that adorned the walls. “A lot of important people have been in this room, you know. A lot of important people have stepped on that carpet. Did you know only thirteen stars are stitched onto the carpet even though there were fourteen colonies at the time it was made? Did you?” He paused and looked over at Lucy who was now lying over the body, before continuing, “It’s because the woman who stitched the flag, Francesca Pearl, her brother founded the fourteenth colony. She hated her brother. Anyways, there’s a lot of history in that carpet and now there’s blood on it. It’s such a shame. Sometimes this job can really be quite frustrating.” Jonathan glanced down at his watch. “Okay, it’s time for you to get up,” he said, picking Lucy off the floor and setting her down on a purple, silk armchair across from him. The grief had weakened her resolve but as he lifted her she protested, “What? What in the hell do you think--”

“Can we not be so melodramatic, please?” He rolled his eyes; people were always so melodramatic.

Lacy fell back against the soft chair in defeat. “Why did you do it?”

Jonathan continued to stroll around the room, gazing at the various pictures and portraits. “Why did I do what?”

With this she found new energy and screamed, “Kill my husband.”

Jonathan chuckled at her response, “Well, if I told you I’d have to kill you.” He looked over at her but she only stared blankly back at him. “Get it? Because I already killed your husband?” He paused, “Anyways, I assure you I had good reason. I would never ruin a perfectly good carpet for no reason. It would just be wasteful.” Jonathan pulled a book out one of the many bookshelves lining the wall, Of Mice and Men, “this was always one of my favorites: a book about down to earth, hardworking Americans. It almost restores my faith in the American dream.”

Her eyes refused to allow more tears to flow but her mouth had no such restraint; “You’re a psychopath; you know that right?”

Jonathan looked up from his book and laughed. “A psychopath? God no, this is just part of my job.”

Her sadness was replaced with rage, and she screamed, “Your job includes killing people? Is that in the freaking description or an extracurricular you like to indulge in?”

“It’s not like that’s written down but it’s definitely necessary. For example, this is the-” he paused to count the corpses on his fingers, “fourth person I’ve had to kill in the past two weeks. I don’t enjoy it, but we all have to work for a living.” He got up to look at the pictures around the room again. “Have you taken a look at these pictures? The people that have been in this room are incredible. We are standing on impressive ground.”

“What did my husband do to deserve this?” She screamed.
Jonathan ignored the question. “The carpet �" the one your husband’s blood is now staining �" is the 349^th carpet to be put in the White House. And Francesca, the woman who stitched the flag, was actually Irish. The green stitching along the edges is supposed to bring good luck to anyone who stands on it.”

“What did my husband do to deserve this?” She screamed again.

Jonathan looked up at her. “That’s a fair question, I see why you would be curious, but again if I told you I would have to kill you.”

“I’ve already seen more than enough to get you in trouble if I wanted too, so just tell me.”

“You really want to know?”

“Yes, I would like to know why you killed my husband.”

“It’s the same old story, barely even worth telling if you ask me, but basically he stumbled upon something he shouldn’t have.”

“He’s the Secretary of State, what could he have possible ‘stumbled upon’?”

“Obviously something because I had to kill him.”

“So what was it? What was the precious information that got him killed?”

He strode over to where she was sitting on the silk armchair and asked, “You really want to know?”

“I’m looking at my husband’s dead body, I need to know.”

Jonathan shrugged and plunged the knife into her chest. “He walked in on me having just killed someone.” As she bled out on the carpet he asked, “Were those stories I told you about the carpet believable? I’m thinking about putting some of them in my speech. I just love that carpet.” Lacy didn’t respond. “Now I have two people bleeding all over the carpet. This really can be a frustrating job.” Jonathan sighed and looked down at his watch; he was already late for the big speech. He started walking toward the door, reciting the speech in his head when he turned suddenly around. He had forgotten to hide the bodies. Lifting one edge of the carpet, he rolled the bodies inside and stashed it under the leather couch. The carpet was too nice too waste so it would have to go home with him. He set a reminder on his phone titled “remember the bodies” and exited the room. A short walk away seven hundred people waited in a large auditorium. As Jonathan approached the side of the stage, a well-dressed man in an overpriced suit came running up to him, nervous sweat dripping down his forehead; “Where the hell have you been? You’re supposed to be giving a speech in three minutes,” he looked down at his watch, “no, actually two minutes.” Jonathan placed his hand on the man’s shoulders, “Chase, calm down, I’m here, aren’t I?” The man exhaled, “Yes, you are, now let’s go. I’ll announce then you’ll come on stage all happy and excited as if you didn’t just make everyone wait an extra twenty minutes.”

“Got it.” The well-dressed man walked onto the stage, greeted by a round of applause. The microphone boomed, “How is everyone feeling tonight?” Another round of applause echoed throughout the room and the man continued, “You all are here for a special reason tonight so I will not keep you waiting any longer. Here to speak to you all today, the President of the United States, Jonathan Bliker.” The crowd roared again as Jonathan stepped out onto the stage. “Welcome to the White House, everyone.” Another roar went up, “I was recently reading Of Mice and Men, by the great American author John Steinbeck, and it reminded me of all of you: of your hard work, of your pride, and of your passion for this great country. Because as hard as I work to care for this country, I know you all work twice as hard. And that’s impressive, because I know my job can be quite frustrating.” Another round of applause erupted.  

Author's Note

This is a rough, rough draft and my first real shot at short story writing. I'm used to novel and essay writing and I have no idea what to think of this first attempt. Please let me know what you think because I have no idea.

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[kate_m]

I love it! I want to know more!