"You're fired, mate."
"...I-I don't understand.."
"Nah, hang on." Mr. Nasty pointed his finger at me. He made sure the cameras were looking directrly at him. He smiled.
"With regret, you're fired."
Shit. I didn't think he was serious. To be fair, he had hired a whole camera crew, a bloody studio, director and what not, so who am I kidding? He's been off the ball for a few years now. i knew that before him. Eff Eff hadn't done anyone favours. And now, he's firing me and making a show out of it. Business was bad.
"You're firing me?"
"Yup."
"I don't get it."
"Yeah, well get this. You're off the team, punk. Now scram!"
"Why are you firing me?"
"Why is the grass green? Oh why the sky is blue? 'why do dreamers dream' said the birds as they flew."
"I see you've practised your lyrics."
"Man, that was freestyle. So vile, even with the smile."
"Sir, please don't fire me!" I said, half-crying. I started to sweat a lot, too. "God, is it hot in here or what?"
"Ur soul aint burnt, but heres some lotion. You didn't make the cut cos u were frozen in ur emotions."
"This is bullshit!"
"Nah, man. You're bullshit!"
"What have I done wrong? I've worked for you for an odd-ten years! You can't just fir-"
"Can and will. Now we can do this the hard way, or the other way."
"W-What's the other way?"
"Hard or other?"
"What's the other way?"
"Man, answer the question!"
"Well, what's the hard way, then?"
At this point i was leaning foward, both hands resting on the table. Mr. Nasty offered me a light. I shook my head slowly, pretty much confused wth what he was trying to do. He then patted my hand twice. He muttered something in Italian.
"You give us 50,000 pounds. To show you're loyal. Reply in Italian, it's good for ratings."
A man walked in from the studio. It was Dawud. Dressed as Luca Brasi. Mr. Nasty turned to look at him and half-smiled.
"So, Dawud...Rumours are that you are tired of Don Ilyas Shah."
Dawud grunted. "Tired is an understatement. I'm pret-"
"So what will it be, Jimmy? 50 bucks, man. Buy me some expensive lunch." Mr Nasty said, ignoring Dawud like damn.
I thought about it. Is this what i'm being reduced to? Two minutes ago, i was on the verge of crying, and now I'm gonna buy my way into this already failing company? It was a valid point. Everyone had quit. Well, everyone that mattered. Alice quit.
I turned away and headed for the door. Already aware that Mr. Nasty would edit the scene and probably add a hilarious comentary explaining how I desperately needed to relieve myself in the bathroom, I turned my head halfway, before walking out.
"I'm gonna have a long break. I haven't had one in a long time."
Mr. Nasty erupted with laughter. "Yeah, I bet you haven't, bro. I still got that lotion, you know?"
He high-fved Dawud and winked at the camera. That's when I knew i was doing the right thing. I was just too stupid to do it sooner. But I didn't feel good. About leaving, i mean. It was too soon. Years of bullshit i endured from this guy, and for what reason? Money? Women?(That one didn't really work out), Having to hear shitty rhymes? 'Oh Jimmy, you tried your best. Turns out, you're the dasmel in distress! So sorry about that chick, Alice. Turns out, only kings can enter her palace!'. He had then pointed at himself and laughed hysterically.
And that's it. That's when I realised. I wanted to embarass this dude. Own him. Beat him at his own game.
I walked back to him. Mr. Nasty chuckled. "Hey, there's already tissues in the toilet, pal!" He high-fived Dawud. Dawud looked at me and sniggered.
"You. Got. Owned." Dawud said.
"Oh yeah? I got owned? Who tells you that whenever you pee, you have to groan?"
The crew laughed lighty. The thing about Eff Eff was that everything was recorded. Even Dawud's long bathroom-breaks that Mr. Nasty had so carefully directed.
"And Dawud, you on your knees, praying to God? What would he say if you were also giving Mr. Nasty a-"
The rest of this conversation has been censored. You got a problem, blame the B.I.G. Nasty cooperation.
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