Read Online Severance Package by Duane Swierczynski - Free Book Online
Authors: Duane Swierczynski
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cells. I’m not too familiar with it myself. I’m a human resources guy.”
“Oh, is that what you do?”
“Shhh. She’s moving.”
They watched as Girlfriend allowed herself to be led to another office. McCoy leaned forward and tapped some keys. A separate fiber-optic feed picked her up on the second screen. They watched another woman—a well-scrubbed, bright-eyed American with shoulder-length hair—try to comfort Girlfriend.
And then they watched Girlfriend start to beat the woman savagely.
“Ugh,” Keene said.
“Oh, she’s
good.”
Amy couldn’t scream, but that didn’t mean she was giving up. She pretended to faint backwards, pivoting so she was facing her own desk from the opposite side. There. An orange-and-black
Philadelphia City Press
mug was loaded with Sharpies, ballpoint pens, and one pair of Italian forged steel scissors with black grips.
Behind her, Molly was closing the door. For privacy, presumably.
So she could kill Amy in peace and quiet.
Amy wrapped her fingers around the cold steel, then lunged out behind her. Molly stepped back; steel whisked against her blouse, ripping the fabric slightly. A smirk appeared on Molly’s face. Amy growled—that was all she could do—and lunged again, but Molly sidestepped it, in the exact opposite direction Amy thought she would. By then it was too late to lunge again. Molly kicked Amy in the chest, which sent her flipping backwards over her own desk. Her fall was temporarily broken by her rolling chair, but it slid away and Amy crashed to the floor.
Run, Amy thought. Run away.
Regroup.
She scrambled to her feet and pressed her palms against her window for support.
The entire pane popped out of its frame.
Amy gasped as the glass fell away from her palms.
Down.
Down.
Down.
The glass dropped thirty-six floors, flipping and coasting and flipping again before shattering in the small street behind the 1919 Market Street Building.
McCoy smiled. “Hah. I didn’t see her do that. I wonder when she did that.”
Keene frowned. “Isn’t that cheating?”
“No, no. She told us she would be doing a few hours of prep work, just like in a normal job. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Smacks of cheating to me.” Keene sipped tea. It soothed his throat, and the warmth—a good warmth—made its way up his sinus cavities. Did nothing for the dull throb in his head, though.
“No, she’s
good.
Her target is in total shock. That window popping out was the last thing she expected.”
They watched the monitor. Keene sipped his Earl Grey.
“Oh …
wait!”
“What?”
“Now I get it. Why she sent me those employee performance sheets.”
Keene took another sip of his tea. He wasn’t about to sit here asking
What do you mean?
all afternoon.
That was one of the truly annoying things about McCoy. He loved to draw out everything. Instead of just coming out with it, he’d make cryptic statements designed to force you to ask “What?” or “Tell me!” or “Oh, really?” Well, McCoy could play with some other fool. He was either going to tell Keene what was on his mind, or he wasn’t.
This time, it didn’t take too much silence to goad McCoy into continuing.
“A few days ago, she sent me a bunch of paperwork. Résumés for her proposed targets, as well as their employee performance sheets. You know, the stuff bosses use to tell you if you’re doing a lousy job or not, if you’re getting a raise or not.”
Keene said nothing. But inside, a little voice urged:
Go on, go on now.
“I couldn’t figure out why she sent me this stuff. I mean, we have everybody’s info, and then some, already on file. This was junk we didn’t need.”
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Mmmm, this tea was good.
McCoy tuned in. “Hey—are you even listening?”
“Of course, love.”
“Anyway, it just dawned on me right now, when that pane of glass dropped away.”
“What?”
Keene silently cursed himself.
“She’s playing on their individual weaknesses,”
“Oh, is that what you do?”
“Shhh. She’s moving.”
They watched as Girlfriend allowed herself to be led to another office. McCoy leaned forward and tapped some keys. A separate fiber-optic feed picked her up on the second screen. They watched another woman—a well-scrubbed, bright-eyed American with shoulder-length hair—try to comfort Girlfriend.
And then they watched Girlfriend start to beat the woman savagely.
“Ugh,” Keene said.
“Oh, she’s
good.”
Amy couldn’t scream, but that didn’t mean she was giving up. She pretended to faint backwards, pivoting so she was facing her own desk from the opposite side. There. An orange-and-black
Philadelphia City Press
mug was loaded with Sharpies, ballpoint pens, and one pair of Italian forged steel scissors with black grips.
Behind her, Molly was closing the door. For privacy, presumably.
So she could kill Amy in peace and quiet.
Amy wrapped her fingers around the cold steel, then lunged out behind her. Molly stepped back; steel whisked against her blouse, ripping the fabric slightly. A smirk appeared on Molly’s face. Amy growled—that was all she could do—and lunged again, but Molly sidestepped it, in the exact opposite direction Amy thought she would. By then it was too late to lunge again. Molly kicked Amy in the chest, which sent her flipping backwards over her own desk. Her fall was temporarily broken by her rolling chair, but it slid away and Amy crashed to the floor.
Run, Amy thought. Run away.
Regroup.
She scrambled to her feet and pressed her palms against her window for support.
The entire pane popped out of its frame.
Amy gasped as the glass fell away from her palms.
Down.
Down.
Down.
The glass dropped thirty-six floors, flipping and coasting and flipping again before shattering in the small street behind the 1919 Market Street Building.
McCoy smiled. “Hah. I didn’t see her do that. I wonder when she did that.”
Keene frowned. “Isn’t that cheating?”
“No, no. She told us she would be doing a few hours of prep work, just like in a normal job. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Smacks of cheating to me.” Keene sipped tea. It soothed his throat, and the warmth—a good warmth—made its way up his sinus cavities. Did nothing for the dull throb in his head, though.
“No, she’s
good.
Her target is in total shock. That window popping out was the last thing she expected.”
They watched the monitor. Keene sipped his Earl Grey.
“Oh …
wait!”
“What?”
“Now I get it. Why she sent me those employee performance sheets.”
Keene took another sip of his tea. He wasn’t about to sit here asking
What do you mean?
all afternoon.
That was one of the truly annoying things about McCoy. He loved to draw out everything. Instead of just coming out with it, he’d make cryptic statements designed to force you to ask “What?” or “Tell me!” or “Oh, really?” Well, McCoy could play with some other fool. He was either going to tell Keene what was on his mind, or he wasn’t.
This time, it didn’t take too much silence to goad McCoy into continuing.
“A few days ago, she sent me a bunch of paperwork. Résumés for her proposed targets, as well as their employee performance sheets. You know, the stuff bosses use to tell you if you’re doing a lousy job or not, if you’re getting a raise or not.”
Keene said nothing. But inside, a little voice urged:
Go on, go on now.
“I couldn’t figure out why she sent me this stuff. I mean, we have everybody’s info, and then some, already on file. This was junk we didn’t need.”
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Mmmm, this tea was good.
McCoy tuned in. “Hey—are you even listening?”
“Of course, love.”
“Anyway, it just dawned on me right now, when that pane of glass dropped away.”
“What?”
Keene silently cursed himself.
“She’s playing on their individual weaknesses,”
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