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Core Business
By
Tim J. Vickers
It had seemed a great idea at the time, but now he was in deep trouble. Hansard gazed out over the skyline from his office, his talons scratching nervously at the black marble desk. Thankfully, the franchise project had been the boss’s idea, but he also knew that this slight detail could be quickly forgotten, so if he got his approach wrong there was no chance of survival in any reasonable form.
Hansard shuddered as he remembered what Lucifer had done to Lazkoft, one of the managers of the disastrous project that had developed television. Poor guy, not even ‘Springer’ had saved him. Who in hell could have foreseen tele-evangelism in the 1920’s? This phone call could be murder, but it would be great for his future prospects with the company. However, that would offer little comfort if he were strangled with his own intestines.
The Hell franchise project had stemmed from demons’ constant surprise as to the inventiveness with which humans devised new ways to oppress and torture each other. It occurred to Lucifer that this same creativity could be applied to soul harvesting. Initially the operations of their earthly subsidiary went very well. Hansard had been particularly impressed with the humans’ idea to insert clauses into the fine print of software licences trading the accepting party’s soul to Hell in return for the program only crashing every other day. Similar sections in extended warranties and insurance policies followed logically: but approaching credit card companies had been a grave mistake. He knew he shouldn’t have trusted those bastards. Yes, they were now approaching market saturation on most continents, but he was sure they had engineered that last fateful board meeting.
It had gone well at first. He wore his new hand-stitched Italian loafers with a charcoal-grey linen suit and made himself look like each of the board members’ first gym teacher: the looks on their faces, priceless.
“Ah, so you made it, gentlemen.” He had drawled, having practiced that phrase countless times to get a tone that expressed both surprise and indifference: but it went downhill from there. The desiccated lawyer in the shiny jacket had done most of the talking, explaining that they felt management was not “maximizing the revenue stream” and that there was an “appreciable under-utilization of assets.” Hansard had tried to assert himself by turning his eyes red and adjusting his silver cufflinks, but the corporal onslaught continued. The humans explained that although they might expand the business by selling indulgences to prevent mistreatment of somebody after death, they thought a more popular product would be to charge customers for increasing the anguish of a chosen individual, such as a bank manager, politician or football referee. There was an obvious problem with this idea, though, and he had laid it out for them.
“The boss won’t go for it. He believes in equality of suffering. The idea that mortals could interfere in Pit Group operations would drive him spare.”
Then the humans had smiled at each other. Hansard growled at the memory and extended a shaking hand to make a window cleaner fall off the skyscraper opposite his office.
The short, fat one who looked like a self-satisfied bowling ball had spoken up:
“I am afraid that this is not your decision. The shareholders are bullish on this business development plan and the measure has been adopted as part of our forthcoming merger with WorldComCredit.” Then the little prick had hit him with the killer. “We have also optioned backing from a higher authority. I recently met with God and convinced him that our plans for expanding Pit Group operations will increase the motivation for proper religious observance. Consequently, I am afraid that we need to re-advertise your post in order to recruit a human soul resource manager with greater marketing experience. As Pit Group is an equal opportunity employer, you will of course be welcome to reapply either for your current job, or one at a lower level in the organizational structure.”
Then the weasel woman in Gucci had piped up, with a smile that even a demon could not imitate.
“Before you clear your desk, Hansard, there is one final task that we feel it would be appropriate for you to perform.”
This is why he was sitting here now, staring at the phone. How do you tell the Devil that he’s fired?
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