Will There Be Extra Credit?

Marion Antono finally gathered the might to lift his head from off of his desk.  He had just spent the last twenty minutes of the day with his forehead glued to the melamine plates that formed his cubicle desk.  After picking up his 'I am Jackson Rowe' promotivational mirror and checking how severe his forehead imprint was, Marion determined he didn't actually care how he looked at the moment.  He shook his head while muttering to himself, picked up his attache case, and made his move.

He took the East hallway, as Marion had received an email tip that Hungerford's office lights were out.  This was outstanding news to Marion.  He couldn't bare to face his boss.  Not now.  Not after what happened earlier that afternoon.  As he shuffled past the open door to Hungerford's modest, windowless office, a familiar voice spoke up.

HUNGERFORD: Good night Marion.

What.  The.  Heck.  Was this guy sitting in his office in the dark?  A startled Marion composed himself for a delayed reply.

MARION: Good night Mr. Hungerford. You take care. I'll see you tomorrow.

Marion had almost managed to slip away with the shard of pride he had left. The one shard was nothing to write home about; a sliver; a slice; but even that he couldn't manage to hold on to. He was obviously hoping to go unnoticed.

A firm hand on the shoulder from Mr. Hungerford stopped Marion in his tracks. So much for the quick getaway.

HUNGERFORD: Hey, bud don't worry about that...misunderstanding today it happens to all of us every now and again.

With that Robert Hungerford gave Marion a click of the tongue and a wink of the brow. All Marion could force himself to do was nod, turn around and hightail it around the corner to the elevator. Oh and blush. There was a whole lot of blushing. He pressed the down arrow and held his breath in anticipation of finding out which floor the carriage was left at. He prayed for a merciful wait. His prayers went unanswered, as most did in that era. Floor three. Thirty-seven floors to go. Marion could sense Mr. Hungerford creeping closer.

HUNGERFORD: Hey bud. Do you want to chat about today? I know it's rough being the new guy when all this...this, nonsense is going on. The big boss knows you weren't trying to get out of line with your...comments earlier.

Marion died a little inside as he turned around slowly, keeping his eyes to the ground. All he could manage was an embarrassed, annoyed grumble.

MARION: I think I'll manage, sir.  

HUNGERFORD: Of course you will. I smoothed it all over this afternoon, so we are all good. He just needed to make an example of a dissident in front of the mid managers to keep us all in check. You're fine, trust me.

Marion truly appreciated what Mr. Hungerford was trying to do for him, but he couldn't get over the artificial stench of cheese that just oozed out of him at all times.

MARION: I appreciate the talk and your kind words, Mr. Hungerford. I'll bounce back strong.  Again, I apologize for earlier.

HUNGERFORD: Ahhh, thats allright. You're a fighter. Fighters need blood!

Mr. Hungerford let out a howl. Marion assumed it to be a vain imitation of that of a wolf. Once Mr. Hungerford had settled down, Marion let out a nervous chuckle.

HUNGERFORD: You know what?

MARION: What's that, sir?

He didn't know what, nor did he want to know what.  Marion turned his head to see how many more floors he had to suffer through. Only six. Well, that's not bad.

HUNGERFORD: I like you Marion. You remind me of me when I was five years younger. God damn those were the days.  Those were the days.  Did I tell you about Cabo last summer yet?

He had. 

HUNGERFORD:  I probably haven't, but hey, its a long story that needs to be told over hard liquor.  This, we will arrange. 

Mr. Hungerford put his hands together and bowed to Marion.  Marion wondered if Mr. Hungerford was doing a bit from one of those sketch shows.  He didn't have a television, preferring to occupy his time writing, or reading, or most often, surfing the internet, so Marion wasn't sure if the gesture was genuine.  It was hard for Marion to fathom his boss bowing to him, even in jest.  Mr. Hungerford couldn't have been a day over thirty, yet pulled down a good six figures. 

 

HUNGERFORD: I am going to have to get you out to my beach house this summer. You like Ocean City? Or should I say Ocean Shitty?

Marion was just too overwhelmed by this animation to respond. He should have just politely declined with a valid, yet false excuse, and taken the stairs.  Did Mr. Hungerford not realize Marion was leaving?

HUNGERFORD: Good times, kid. Hey, have you seen my new girl? Let me show you a picture...hold on.

This wasn't the first time Marion had been forced to appraise Mr. Hungerford's flavor of the week. Marion just felt so, so unlicensed to do so. Mr. Hungerford reached into his pockets, and felt around his torso for his new smartphone. 
 

HUNGERFORD: Must've left it in my office. I will be back in a tit.

Mr. Hungerford hurried off, but left the conversation with an assumption that Marion would be right where he left him upon his return. Luckily for Marion, this was not the case. The elevator arrived; better late than never. Marion looked around the corner. Mr. Hungerford was gone.

MARION: The elevator's here. Goodnight again sir.

Marion knew he risked offending his boss, and one of his most enthusiastic supporters, but really now, Mr. Hungerford needed to be more attentive to social cues and body language.  On his way down, Marion pulled out his own smartphone to get a preview of what kind of arctic blast he was in for. Marion shuddered at the news.

MARION: Good grief, that's cold.

In time, the elevator opened, and he savored his last few seconds of room temperature before clenching his jaw and pushing the main lobby doors open. He had mentally prepared for the chill, but not physically prepared.  After about six steps, the inclination of just giving it all up and collapsing into a snow drift, allowing for a peaceful ice-death, crept over Marion. He couldn't find anything wrong with going out like that.  A clean and painless death, indeed. His pace slowed to a virtual stand still as he began to entertain these notions with more romantic vigor.

A car horn snapped Marion out of his dangerous trance. He was standing in the middle of the parking lot, blocking traffic. Like an idiot.  He gave a sheepish wave of apology and picked up his pace, but not so fast whereas he wasn't able to catch a glimpse of who's car had parked in the “Employee of the Month” spot that morning. It had been empty when Marion had arrived for work that morning. In fact, the majority of the parking lot had been empty when Marion pulled in. A new month meant a new employee to be honored with the nominal reward of parking 30 meters closer to the building than the rest of the rank and file. Marion couldn't help but think of how good that 30 meters would be right then. It looked like Meredith was the one to be envious of for the next thirty days. She definitely didn't need the spot; That broad was cold anyway.

At long, bitter last Marion arrived to his little slice of heaven, his father's Mustang GT. For a production car with mass appeal, the ride and owner had a lot to be proud of. While indulging in such deadly sins, Marion had forgotten he neglected to turn off the radio before he got out of the car, so once the ignition was turned, Marion was in for quite the heart attack.  He quickly turned down the volume knob and switched from WHSY 965 Death Metal to what he thought would be the traffic report as he cautiously backed out of his spot.

ANCHOR:  ...And a story making headlines across the nation centers on three members of a group called the Cumberland Peaceforce. The Young P Squad, as they are known to local advocates, are based in the town of their namesake in Western Maryland. This news station is being told that the group identifies themselves as a 'Constitutional Militia', bent on preserving the State's rights against an encroaching Federal government and most importantly, the Second Amendment. This type of group, as you all know, is nothing new in an age of ever growing Federal purview. What makes this group noteworthy is the membership of Yuri Gorkichev, Tamar Gwyn, and Asa McMillan, who earlier today were accused by the United States Justice Department of kidnapping, along with a myriad of other chargers at the federal and state level. The three are at large and presumed...

MARION: Well, that's all rather depressing.

Marion hit his fourth preset. The soul jarring sound of a saxophone intermezzo filled the cabin of the vehicle. That was more like it, Marion thought. The simmering sounds coming from the dash were a much needed reprieve to an otherwise unbearable day. Alas, this reprieve was as swift as it was needed. As Marion turned Northwest on River Road, his stomach dropped. In the distance and beyond, as far as the eye could see, was the commuters worst nemesis. For the foreseeable future, it looked as though Marion would be stuck in bumper to bumper traffic. Marion slammed his palms on the steering wheel and the back of his cranium on the driver's headrest while emitting a whimpering groan.  Was this what he gave up Hollywood for?

By the time sixty three minutes had passed and Marion noticed he had only gone roughly one mile and a half, he decided that enough was enough, and devised a shortcut. Little Falls was slowly approaching; a road Marion was familiar with from his younger days. He decided this was his out and made right without signaling. It wasn't any matter, he thought; there were no police in sight.

Marion had not been on the Parkway twelve seconds when what appeared to be the olive green and black of a state police cruiser appeared in his rearview.  

MARION: God. Please, God, if you are there, I want you to know, I will have no choice but to kill myself and blame you in the note if you let this happen.

Marion thought a moment.

MARION: Well, you probably don't respond to threats well, so I'm going to go ahead and take that back. Lets just keep this little incident between me and you ok? It's been a rough day...as you probably know.

The Troopers lights flashed on. No, Marion's God did not respond to threats well at all.  Being the law abiding citizen type, Marion pulled off to the shoulder.  He instinctively reached for the glove compartment where the registration was.  His common sense got the better of him as he stopped himself abruptly to return both hands to the wheel, wondering if his sudden movements had already aroused suspicion.

Here was Marion's chance to find out.  The dreaded tap-tap-tap on the window.

OFFICER: Evening. Would you mind rolling down your window?

Marion had already taken the liberty of rolling down his window to show the officer he was compliant and far from a threat, but hadn't rolled it down in it's entirety due to the cold wind. Nevertheless Marion completed the job, not wanting to be a nuisance.

MARION: What seems-

OFFICER: License and registration please.

Marion hesitated a moment as his eyes briefly became mesmerized by the movement of the officer's mustache while he was gnawing his wad of gum.

OFFICER: License and registration please.

Marion could also see the officer move his hand from the holster of his firearm to discretely beckon his partner, who was likely trying not to freeze his gonads off by staying shotgun. Marion's eyes finally broke free and shifted to the rearview just in time to see the toasty officer throw his hands up and shake his head in denial. The world now knew who was in charge there. Marion relaxed a bit knowing the officers collectively knew he meant no harm. He reached in the glove compartment to obtain the registration, which was conspicuously nestled under his freshly borrowed, freshly bootlegged copy of the new Stardust Legacy. Marion froze for a moment and slowly turned his head back to the officer, wondering if he had noticed the illicit contraband. It appeared he hadn't. Marion was still hesitant to put that minute win in his column just yet.

MARION: Here you are, officer. What seems to be the problem?

OFFICER: Just go ahead and turn the engine off.  Sit tight.

Well, sure.  Marion would be sitting mighty tight once he had frozen to death.  The officer took another second to review Marion's credentials car side, before pivoting to return to his cruiser.  What had Marion done?  It couldn't have been the signal.  Could it've?  Something didn't sit right.  Marion glanced around his car to double check he didn't have anything in it that could get him into trouble.  All clean.  

It was at that moment that something dawned on Marion; a shudder came across his, and it wasn't due to the cold.  He had just then noticed the officers were wearing plain clothes.  Never once had Marion seen a Maryland State Trooper in plain clothes pulling people over, even considering the recent surge in police presence in recent years.  Even still, he kept his hands at two and ten and monitored the officers in the mirror, taking in a deep breath with the latest portrait of a precarious police state. It would be more than six minutes before there was any substantial movement in the police cruiser, but when there was movement, that movement was substantial.

Both officers exited to brave the cold this time. The formerly warmer officer proceeded to Marion's passenger side, as the original officer made his grand return to the drivers.

OFFICER FROSTY: Can you tell us where you're coming from?

Fair enough.  

MARION: I'm coming from work, officer. I work at Jackson Rowe.

OFFICER FROSTY: And you were there all day?

MARION: Yes, officer.

OFFICER FROSTY: What time did you leave?

Marion could see Officer Toasty peering into Marion's backseat. Marion knew what he was looking for. He was looking for any excuse he could. He couldn't wait to defile Marion's cherry ride.

MARION: About 5:25 PM.

Officer Frosty nodded his head and cranked his neck for his own quick peak in the backseat.  His eyes fixated on Marion's attache.  

OFFICER FROSTY:  Does that bag contain a computer?

MARION:  It does.

The officer grimaced, but moved on.

OFFICER FROSTY: The reason I'm stopping you is because you made a suspicious exit in front of a check point.

Well, now Marion knew what was causing all that traffic.

MARION: I didn't know there was a check point, officer. I just thought I could use a shortcut to avoid some traffic.

OFFICER FROSTY: Avoiding traffic? That sounds a little suspicious. Doesn't that sound suspicious to you Butler?

OFFICER BUTLER: It sure does, Jille, it sure does.

Officer Butler drummed out some familiar beat on the roof. Officer Jille took off his gloves and reached into his jacket pocket, immediately producing a plastic bag.  Marion had seen those bags before.

OFFICER JILLE: Now, Mr. Antono, I want you to know that some very serious crimes have been committed in this area, and we need to chase down every possible lead.

MARION: ...Of course. Sure.

Officer Butler winked at Jille. Jille didn't catch it.

OFFICER JILLE: And I'll need to rule you out as a suspect.

MARION: A suspect?

OFFICER BUTLER: This one's hard of hearing.

Marion pretended not to hear that.

MARION:  Wait a minute.  Am I a suspect?
OFFICER JILLE: All I need is just a little cooperation, Mr. Antono.  Please.

Marion took a breath.

MARION:  How could I help?
OFFICER JILLE:  Glad you've asked.  All I'd need is a little DNA sample, just so we can make sure your not behind any of those serious crimes we're talking about.

MARION: Which crimes were those again exactly officer?

Officer Jille let out an impatient groan.

OFFICER JILLE: Any crime. The stabbing yesterday, the rape this morning, the arson tomorrow. You name it. We just want to make sure we know who the good guys are. We need to know who is with us and who is against us.

If that wasn't dire enough, Officer Butler banged on the car hood and drove the point home.

OFFICER BUTLER:  This is a matter of State Security!

Marion's stomach turned.  Those two words were being tossed around pretty liberally those days.

MARION: Is it required?

OFFICER JILLE: Think of it as...extra credit.

Marion gave the officers the benefit of the doubt, and took a moment to think about it.  He wouldn't know it, but over the car hood, Officer Butler air stroked his metaphorical genitals while his eyes rolled out of his head.

OFFICER JILLE: Have you anything to hide, Marion? If you don't, you should have no problem with just a little swab of the inside of your cheek. It'll let us make sure we've all done our part to keep this neighborhood safe.
MARION:  I understand.  I just didn't realize that this was such a dangerous neighborhood.

Officer Jille proceeded to open the plastic bag and remove the sterile cotton swab on a stick. Marion just watched him in captivate by the further erosion of civil liberty, chastising himself for internally suggesting that his day could not get any worse when his neck tie dipped below the toilet bowl line right after lunch. He also noticed that Officer Jille just sort of stood there, looking imposed upon, with swab in hand.  As Marion and Officer Jille's gaze remained locked in stand off, on the other side of the car, Officer Butler knocked on the passenger side window.  This startled Marion into losing the contest. He proceeded to roll down the window to humor the authority. Officer Butler leaned in with a growl.

OFFICER BUTLER: Just nod your stupid pinhead and open your god damn mouth before I open it for you.

Marion's jaw dropped. 

 Easy access for ol' Officer Jille.  After nearly rupturing Marion's uvula, the trooper finally decided he had enough of a specimen and withdrew the swab.

OFFICER JILLE:  I don't know why they don't just let it happen.  I ask so nicely.

Marion should have kept quiet, but the flagrant violation of what he thought was his Fourth Amendment right was too much to stomach.

MARION:  Excuse me!  

A fed up Marion reached for the door handle and applied some pressure with his shoulder.  Seeing as how Officer Jille was still directly outside of the drivers side door, inspecting Marion's extracted inner cheek juice, it was pretty unavailable that he would be struck.  Marion must have known that.  Just as the door made contact with his thigh, Officer Jille's head snapped down to assess the impact.  It was definitely a quick assessment.  Officer Jille immediately applied his own counter force, one much greater than what was coming out of the vehicle.  In what seemed like one simultaneous action, Marion's car door slammed shut as the Officer's fist slammed hard into the side of his head.  Stunned, shocked, Marion had little time to react before ol' Jille encored by reaching through the car window with both arms, grabbing Marion around the neck in a headlock, and ripping him right through the threshold and down into the cold hard world, like he had been born again.  All while Officer Butler pounded on the roof of Marion's car and howled in amusement.

At this point, Marion was sure he had chipped a tooth, and most likely bit through his tongue; there was definitely the taste of blood.  He would have certainly reach up and confirmed his suspicion had there not been the knee of a two hundred and fifty plus pound man nestled on the back of his neck.

OFFICER JILLE:  I've been waiting for someone to get tough with me today.

The pressure on the back of Marion's neck intensified.

OFFICER JILLE:  Oh yeah.  You're a tough guy, are ya?

Marion couldn't respond, even if he wanted to.  His assailant leaned in so he only had to whisper.

OFFICER JILLE:  I can kill you right here.  Pop your head off like a grape.  Like it was nothing.

Marion attempted to speak, but his jaw was prevented from moving to form anything but an inaudible gurgle.  

OFFICER JILLE:  You know what would happen to me?  Not shit.  They'd send me on a two week vacation with pay.  I could use a vacation.

Somehow the pressure increased.  How had Marion now blacked out yet?  Officer Butler moseyed his way to the driver's side, more concerned with trying to buff out a small nick in the GT's paint rather than with Marion's soon to be lifeless body.

Marion gurgled again.  Officer Butler casually glanced in his direction.

OFFICER BUTLER:  Jill, this is at least three violations of company code.  Two of them pretty serious.

Marion could feel a relief in pressure.  Thank God.

OFFICER BUTLER:  So you better waste that fool right here so he can't tell his side.

Officer Butler went right back to buffing, and Officer Jille went right back to attempted murder.  As the darkness started to creep from the corners of Marion's eyes, a garbled, digitized voice spoke up.

VOICE:  Agents be advised there is a robbery in progress on Perriwinkle Parkway.  Anyone in the area, please come back with ETA.

The reverberance of the voice had barely dissipated when Officer Jille abruptly got up off of Marion without so much as a "I'll call you" and booked it to his cruiser.  Marion looked behind him and found Officer Butler was a ghost as well.  The sound of tires squealing finally compelled Marion to get up off of the pavement and scamper back to the driver's seat of his ride, still quivering in confusion.

If you liked what you read, please consider supporting a burgeoning artist. 

© cBiZinc.  All rights reserved.