But is it Artery?
Predator Press[LOBO]
“Oh my God. I knew it,” remarks Barbarossa, pointing in horror at a visible wire hanging below my shirt. “You’ve been assimilated into the Borg.”
“Don’t be silly,” I says. “It’s a portable EKG.” I pull up the shirt to show the tangled nest of wires and nipple-like stickers affixed to my torso -all running to a box on my belt, not dissimilar in size and shape to a walkman.
Barbarossa, visibly alarmed, stares in jaw-agape silence.
“It’s alright,” I laugh. “It turns out my heart beats faster than normal –and even stops on occasion. Doctor Nyarlathotep obviously wants to study my hyperactive, ultra efficient heart -a superheart if you will- for the medical benefit of mankind. Just like when he has all those psychiatrists study my brain. ”
“It kinda looks like you have a bomb strapped to your chest.”
“Really?” I ponder this, slightly disappointed. “Even with the string of Christmas tree lights I ran through it?”
“Yeah,” Barbarossa nods. “You better hope they don’t say anything at work. And won’t it trip the security scanners at the door?”
I shrug.
“I hate to mention it,” he adds, “but my dad had to wear one of those the year he had a heart attack.”
“Not to question your medical credentials Doctor,” I guffaw dripping sarcasm, thumping my chest. “But this little black thing isn’t attacking anyone.” Pausing a moment, I add a thoughtful disclaimer. “But I wouldn’t put it to the test, either. It’s perfectly capable of ripping your face off if so inclined.”
Barbarossa ponders this gravely, remembering his father -in those final months- taking prescription pills labeled ‘Nitro Glycerine.’
“Nah,” says Barbarossa, pushing them to me as he stands. “But it’s probably not a good idea for you to eat that stuff.”
“Pthbbt,” I says. “I doubt my digestive system would even know what to do with a vegetable. Besides, I’m drinking a diet Coke. Remember?”
“Blech,” Barbarossa winces in acknowledgment. “Well, I’m going to go in early to make a good impression. Thanks for getting me the job.”
“Nrrp prrbllm,” I says, chewing. “Now go bust your ass so I don’t look like a fucktard for it.”
“Okay.”
I watch Barbarossa enter the building, and ten minutes later the shift bell sounds. At that point I get up and slowly meander into the building, finishing my cigarette.
-Unlike Barbarossa, I’ve already been working here for two weeks; I’m almost expected to be late every day.
It’s called a “Power Move.”
I’m sending a message to The Suits.
I slide my card at the door, enter, and hang my jacket in the in the antechamber.
My thoughts drift the afore mentioned security scanner. It is two slender black pillars -immediately between where I must clock in and the rest of the warehouse- that must be walked through.
This EKG thing won’t set those off, will it? I’m thinking. Just play it cool. Proceed like nothing is fucked whatsoever.
And I pass through without incident.
That dumbass Barbarossa doesn’t know shit, I smile to myself, picking up pace to get to my station.
Unfortunately –regarding “Power Moves”- my company doesn’t know shit either. Because apparently they just had a brief meeting alerting everyone else that they were testing the fire alarms this morning …
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