I lost a bet...
My partner supplied random information... a person, a setting, etc... and demanded a story to approve for publication here.
I failed on my first two attempts.
The third attempt was the first story in this series. To wit, Manipulated Male: The Neighbour
It took me two attempts to complete a satisfactory 'punishment' story - one of the punishments for wasting her time with, quote, those two useless rambling nonsense pieces of garbage, unquote.
This story is that first accepted punishment story...
********
The photo sat alone on the small round table. The content was devastating. In the back left was the smoke billowing from a fire and in the back centre right was a group smashing the window of a shop. It took a moment to stop reeling, mentally - and I think quite possibly I might have wobbled physically -before I could once again focus. I wasn't smiling and I wasn't running or skipping gleefully. No reason I should be, of course. I'd delayed leaving the arena to avoid the worst of the crowds, only to discover the streets outside were immersed in a full blown riot. I'd been picking my way through the mess for 20 odd minutes, judging by where I seemed to be in this photo.
"It was a mess," I said quietly.
"I'm pretty sure the boss won't be best pleased."
I turned to look at the bitch. I thought of her as a bitch because she was a bitch. She and her department were less than competent and were proven less than competent by my results, as a private contractor, since I was brought in two years previously to perform a significant portion of her previous task.
There was something ugly about her smile. Something ugly about the whole scene.
"I shouldn't think anyone is best pleased."
"But the boss won't have much option, will she. Not when the cc goes to the local paper." She turned the monitor on her desktop to show me the email.
I couldn't read it. Didn't have to. Social media was being used to identify the main culprits to the post sporting event ramage. The perpetrators of the riot were now the subject of a public witch-hunt. "Don't be silly. I didn't have anything to do with..."
"Looks pretty damning to me," she interrupted, smiling her most insidious smile.
She would do it. No ability but machination was her modus operendi. And she has no moral compass whatever. Yes, the bitch would press the send key.
" Even you wouldn't do this. The boss knows I was at the match last night, we had a phone conversation about something else earlier this morning..."
"Looks pretty damning to me," the bitch repeated, turning the monitor back toward her, and typing quickly, "and while I bet the boss knows the outline of events from your point of view I bet she doesn't know you hung around afterwards long enough to be in midst of the riot..."
"People from the match were caught up..."
"Not people who are a significant public face for this organization and not people for whom the local news media have an immediate interest..."
"Listen...!"
