executive producer at COD, Scott had called in to see if Dan needed him to do anything else before he went home. Dan’s assistant, not knowing any better, told Scott about how Dan had landed the Fujioka account with this great “More Is More” campaign idea. Further she told him they were going to be having a big party in the conference room to celebrate. She invited Scott to join the party.
So he did. “You rat bastard son-of-a-bitching thief!” Scott shrieked.
Oren was terrified, and even though he would have hated to see his ace creative guy gutted with a chain saw, he wasn’t about to wade into the fray and risk getting goat cheese on his shirt. But he had to do something. “Somebody call Security,” he yelled.
While Scott was banging the rat bastard son-of-a-bitching thief’s head into the caviar reflecting pool, Dan managed tohave an idea. He wrestled Scott to the floor where they proceeded to roll around furiously while Scott threw wild punches and spewed invective. Scott was so intent on trying to gouge Dan’s eyes out that he didn’t keep track of what Dan was doing with his hands. With everyone else focused on the fight, the Fujioka executives took the opportunity to get fresh cocktails.
A moment later Security arrived. They were a couple of beefy boys from the UCLA football program who were working part-time until they could find an agent or a booster to give them illegal cash under the table. Oren, wanting to help in any way possible, pointed the security guys in the direction of the fight. They pulled Scott off of Dan and subdued him. Dan was still lying on the floor. He pointed wildly up at Scott. “He’s crazy!” Dan yelled. “He’s on drugs or something! Get him away from me!”
“I’m going to feed your testicles to my fucking dog!” Scott swore.
The security guards bent Scott violently over the conference table and cuffed him. He continued to struggle and make wheezy threats, so one of the security guys stuffed a handful of the pate televisions into Scott’s mouth. As Scott gagged on the goose liver, the security guys rooted through his pockets. They found car keys, a wallet, some ChapStick, and a small amber vial filled with a rocky white powder. “Looks like meth,” one of them said.
The other one shook his head. “Blow.”
Scott looked over his shoulder. “What? That’s not mine!”
“He’s a goddamn drug addict,” Dan yelled. “He’s crazy. Call the police! Get him out of here! He’s a fucking dope dealer!”
In his entire cringing existence, Scott had never even smoked pot, much less snorted any cocaine. It wasn’t that he disapproved, he was just too scared to do things like that.Scott knew the security guards didn’t have any reason to plant it on him, so the only one left to blame was Dan. Now, Scott was already pretty worked up about the Fujioka thing, but this sent him over the edge. He was so pissed he couldn’t begin to articulate his rage. He turned a deep red and looked, quite simply, psychotic.
The security guys lifted Scott by the arms and started to carry him out of the room. Scott finally regained the gift of speech. “The bastard’s framing me!” Pate issued from Scott’s nostrils as he continued hurling accusations. “It was my idea! I’m going to kill you, Steele! Count on it! You are a dead man!”
Oren watched as Dan, still sitting on the floor, combed the caviar from his dark hair. It seemed likely that Dan had stolen Scott’s idea. He couldn’t be sure about the cocaine allegations, but he suspected that somehow Dan had planted the toot on the poor schmuck at some point during the mayhem.
This is my new business partner?
Oren crossed his arms and beamed a magnificent smile. He looked like a proud parent.
F ather Michael still felt like he was coming down with something. He’d had a couple of painful spasms in his abdomen and thought he should go see a doctor, but first he had to go to Van Nuys to attend Ruth’s 5150 evaluation
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Author's Note
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