The Complainer reeled from the intrusion of this dirt-encrusted Man with a Shovel who seemed to be on good terms with the Worker, and the discomfort levels only increased with every new sentence uttered.
“How much have you done so far?”
“Just a few shovelfuls. Get digging.”
“You should be able to do this on your own.”
“Do I tell you how to do your job?”
“Yes. Constantly.”
“It’s not my fault they keep dying faster than I can get rid of ‘em.”
“Don’t talk like that. Somebody might get the wrong idea.”
Noting the Worker wasn’t alone, the Man with the Shovel said to the Complainer, “I’m not responsible. They all come dead to me when I get ‘em.”
“You’re not helping your case here.”
“But that’s what I do, isn’t it? Call a spade a shovel.”
Sensing the Complainer’s increasing desire to get away, the Worker explained, “He’s a Gravedigger.”
Somehow, that explanation made it both better and worse.
“An accomplished Gravedigger.”
“Delegating to others doesn’t count.”
“It does in my book! As long as the job’s done, who cares?”
“Hopefully, nobody I know.”
“Rest assured, if they were important, they’d be getting their own plots of land.”
“There are other ways of disposal than burial, y’know.”
“If he doesn’t want to be buried with all the others, that’s his choice.”
The Complainer was spooked out and about to grab the spade and help out, since nobody seemed to be digging, when the East Turned interrupted by digging everyone into a hole in a voice loud enough for all to hear; “Hey cops? I think somebody buried a body in my buddy’s backyard.”
“What did... how could you just...?” the Complainer stumbled.
“Wait for it...” the East Turned replied.
“You work fast,” the Gravedigger remarked.
“I’ll be expecting some compensation.”
“Is this acceptable?”
“That’ll do.”
The Complainer looked in dismay at what the Gravedigger handed over. “A pencil stub?”
“My good man,” the Worker admonished, “this pencil stub is the foundation of the cornerstone on which your Empire shall be built! Let’s go.” And he got back into the vehicle where the Driver was waiting.
“You’re leaving?”
“This’ll take awhile. I have other things to do in the meantime. You can stay if you want.”
The Complainer surveyed the area. In the foreground, the Worker was patiently waiting. In the background, the Gravedigger was absently twirling his spade/shovel between his fingers while on the East Turned’s receiver, a recording sounded out on loop:
“Don’t worry kiddies! The policeman is your friend! ...as long as you don’t ask them to do anything that actually requires doing their job. Some restrictions may apply. Stay where you are and don’t move. Failure to comply will result in punishment. Don’t worry...”
The Complainer didn’t ask for an Empire, yet the Worker seemed to be going above and beyond his ask, every new interaction seemingly getting further away from his goal. He couldn’t possibly see how each disparate element fit together. His problem had yet to be resolved, yet resolved himself to tag along. He was curious and wanted to see the end result of this friendly exchange.
“...in exchange, if you help me out now, I may be able to help you in the future. It could be very beneficial.”
“Really? How?”
“A simple request made to the right ears at the right time having maneuvered all influential parties into the right conditions at the right moment. Simple as that! No guarantees. Just a stipulation that upon getting what I want, I’ll be giving you what you want.”
“I’ll be needing your signature before I commit myself to anything.”
“Where do I sign?”
It was easy to make these kinds of promises. The Thief didn’t plan on sticking around for very long. He’d leave the mess of trades and double-dealings for the Worker before anybody noticed.
The Thief had hoped to lift the badge from the false identification form come to life, but even the presence of the personification of an impossibility wasn’t enough to convince the Clerk to hand the badge over. The apparition still had to wait his turn. Getting a replacement badge that way seemed more trouble than it was worth, so the Thief decided that rather than be stupefied by the obstructionist methods, to use their obstructionist tactics against them instead.
It was a little trick he’d learned. If caught doing something he shouldn’t, just say, ‘The Boss asked me to do this.’ If told to get back to what he was supposed to be doing, record their outrage and tell everyone. If openly confronted, just say that he tried to help out as much as you could, and couldn’t understand all this animosity pointed towards him. That was their blind spot. Showing absolute deference to authority while openly defying their orders.
But even that path was fraught with peril. In order to get to this point, he had to navigate between Inhumane Resources, the Harassment Bureau and the Department of Complaints (the longest lineup so far). Just finding a sympathetic employee who would listen to him was a ordeal in itself, and it looked like his Targeted Mark was willing to sign off on his request, when one last hurdle revealed itself:
“Looks fake to me.”
His Target wouldn’t believe that the Thief’s forged signature was actually his.
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