The Gentleman

A burning idea I’ve had for quite some time.

The meeting room was bristling with noise. Men and women sat in suits of black, white, grey and even pink, talking amongst themselves. They weren’t necessarily sat – more perched on the desks, and stood around the room. The chatter got louder and louder, before the attendants had to shout in order to be heard. Because of this, the noise from the room could be heard all down the hallway. Suddenly, one of the men -dressed in a striped grey suit, with a sloppy white shirt and dark red tie- hushed the room and stood at the front of the class.

“Now then class. Today, we’re going to talk about shit, shit, and more shit!” The man comically announced, with hand gestures. The room erupted with laughter.

“What shall we discuss today? We have much to get through!” The man continued. He put his hands in his pocket and strut about the room. Everyone sat in their seats, some squirming with enjoyment, the others trying to play the act.

“You! You do not look good today. Your shoes have a speck of dust on them. Instant death!” The victim cried out for a while, before joining in with the laughter. The grey suit man returned to the front of the room.

“Any suggestions for debate today?” He asked the class, his eyes scanning the room.  He pointed at someone sat in the corner of the room.

“Drewman! You there, Drewman! Come to the front!” He called. Drewman squirmed in his seat. Drewman was the one dressed in pink – because of this, he had earned himself the nickname, Gayman.

“Anderson, this isn’t a good idea. I think you should stop. It’s not good to play jokes behind his back, with him as the butt.” Drewman trembled. He was shaking. His wavy blond hair seemed to shake with him, and his blue eyes blurred behind his glasses.

“Come on Gayman, it’s only a bit of fun! He’s not due to arrive for another…” Anderson checked his watch. He was a confident man. He had long, dirty blond hair, with dull green eyes and a long face. He was very tall for his age, only 17. He was the son of Richard Anderson, the billionaire who gained his fortune from the booming oil industry. He was wearing a Rolex watch, made of pure gold, and flicked his wrist so his watch was visible.

“Shit. Seriously, everyone back to their sea-” Anderson was interrupted by the door opening. He froze in place, paralysed. He stared at the figure who’d opened the door. It was him.

“Anderson. What the fuck do you actually think you’re doing?” The man asked, stepping away from the door. It closed with a small click. He was wearing an untucked yet immaculate white shirt, with a long black tie and no top button. His tie was loose, but it didn’t seem to bother him. His tie was always lose. He was wearing black jeans and old, tattered brown shoes that’d worn away at the edges. The soles were wearing thin, but this didn’t bother him either. He walked towards Anderson, scowling.

“Sir, I promise I was doing nothing. I was merely settling the class, ready for your arrival.” Anderson explained, stuttering.

“Of course. That’s why I heard you outside. All the way down the corridor. And what was that? You trying to calm the class?”

“Sir, I can explain.”

“Then please do.” Anderson stood there, bewildered. He’d messed up, big time. He was not prepared.

“I’m sorry sir. Is there any way I can repay you?” Anderson asked. He was evidently desperate. But desperation was not to save him. Nothing was to save him. He pulled out a pistol from his pocket. He placed it at Anderson’s forehead.

“I’m afraid not, Anderson. Your father will be receiving a letter shortly. Daddy’s boy is dead. Sincere apologies.” He mocked, then fire the gun. Anderson spiralled to the floor, dead.

“Anyone else willing to take the piss? No? Good. Now, let us begin.” He stood at the front of the room, like a teacher. He looked around for a moment, before someone raised their hand. Drewman.

“Yes, Drewman?” He asked, sighing. Drewman hesitated for a moment.

“Sir, can I ask something before we start? Why do you insist on us conducting meetings like this?”

“Because I am the most important person here. I am the one you should be listening to. I come up with the ideas, and I make shit happen. Problem?”

“No, sir, not at all. Just curious.” Drewman shrunk into his seat, his cheeks burning bright red. He was about to begin, before someone coughed. He swivelled around and fired the gun. A woman, dressed in a dark grey shirt, grey tie and black skirt slumped over in her seat.

“Sir! You shot her!” Someone called, shocked.

“I was about to begin. I was interrupted. Everyone knows I do not like that.”

“But she didn’t interrupt you! I was the one that coughed.” Ward announced. He looked down, ashamed.

“Well that’ll teach you not to disrupt me again. Orelse you’ll find it very lonely in here. Now, can I start?” There was utter silence.

“Good. You all know why we’re here today, I presume? If you’re an absolute moron and you’ve managed to forget, I shall reiterate. Tension between North and South Korea has been rising. If it goes on any more, a nuclear war is imminent. Even if South Korea was to be destroyed, we all know America would come to it’s aid, and the rest of the petty UN countries. Iran, Iraq and Afghanistan would surely get involved to seek revenge on America. The UK would take cover behind America, claiming they’re doing their best when they’re doing piss all. We’re going to be actually making a difference, if this war does occur. But it doesn’t have to.”

“Why are we here today then? To start the war, prevent it, delay it, what?” Hutchinson asked. He was wearing a black tuxedo.

“To sit back and laugh. We’re not going to start the war, but we’re going to worsen the tension between South and North Korea. The South/North divide has been good ever since the Korean war, but since North Korea decided to be bastards and shut off that power plant on the border, the divide has broken. South Korea is calling upon it’s protector, the USA, for aid. As we all know, the USA will be power mongers and turn the war from SK vs NK to USA vs NK.”

“I still don’t understand what we’re doing here.” Hutchinson said, obviously bored. He lifted his pistol again. Hutchinson’s head met the desk.

“Is anyone else willing to make smart remarks, or can I fucking get on with this thing?” Utter silence, once again.

“Marvelous. Now. Before I was rudely interrupted… ah yes. America are going to dominate the war, North Korea are going to try and act like they’re be the victors, and USA will come out triumphant again. Oh, look, USA won another war, and this time they didn’t fuck anything up. Wrong. This is were things get exciting. This is where we come out to play. This is where the USA shit their pants. Once the war is over, we send our agents into the states we’ve previously agreed – California, New York, Florida, Kentucky, Oregon and Minnesota. They plant bombs. Fucking everywhere. They detonate the bombs instantly – sacrificing their own lives, but fucking up the USA.”

“Why are we doing this, sir?” Gregory asked. Gregory was an old man, with white hair, red tinted glasses and a white thick mustache. He sat back, relaxed, awaiting an answer.

“To show America not to get involved with shit they shouldn’t be fucking with.”

“Why? America never learns. Plus, you swear a lot. Can you please stop?” Gregory continued.

“Why? Because I can. I swear a lot, so what? Can I stop? No. Can you stop interrupting me?” He glared at Gregory, who sat back, not amused.

“We’re doing this because we can. Mainly to get ourselves recognised. On the map. Show the world who’s boss. Us. Show America that they’re not the only ones who have power, bombs, money. To show people not to fuck with us. It’ll be embarrassing for America. It’ll be good for us. Everyone’s happy. There should be a folder on all of your desks. That has all the information you need. You can pass it to America, I don’t give a shit. What can they do about it? I expect you all at the next meeting. You’re all dismissed. And Gregory. Watch your back.”

“What is your name? It’s always left me bewildered.” Gregory asked.

“The Gentleman. Have I not already said?”

“I mean your real name.” Gregory replied, scowling.

“That’s for me to know, and you to find out. Go.” The Gentleman finished. He turned his back, done. Gregory sighed, then left the room.

The Gentleman sat down in the chair, and pressed a button on the phone.

“Get rid of Gregory. He’s pissed me off too much.”


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