The Asshole App (Expanded Version) ✅ Wattys2023

12 Dennis

Dennis Lear shook out a red cloth napkin and faced Piers Jamison over a low, black heated kotatsu table. He scanned the underground sumo wrestling restaurant and searched for Casper Winterman, the ruthless businessman's shady sidekick. The two CIA cohorts were inseparable. "Where's Casper? Isn't he joining us for lunch?"

The dapper crime czar was impeccably dressed in a dark, European business suit.  Nobody suspected the well groomed, elderly gentleman of crimes against humanity. His patrician face was unreadable as he observed Lear's nervous mannerisms with calculated interest. "Casper's busy right now." Jamison caught his gaze and smiled as he appeared to interpret Lear's agitation as a thinly veiled fear.

Lear knew Piers worked for the elite Cabal that controlled the central banking system. The two men were fingers of the shadowy hand that pulled the real levers of power in the world. Casper's unusual absence from today's meeting made alarm bells go off in his head.

Standing guard beside Jamison, a formidable thug with massive tattooed forearms and a nasty scar on the side of his face, glowered at him.

Unsettled, he recalled what Alfred Hitchcock had said. There was no terror in the bang, only in the anticipation of it.

CENTIEN's CFO pulled at his necktie as the back of his neck tingled—he sensed the presence of unseen professional surveillance monitoring his every move.

There's definitely a bang coming—a big one.

Dennis took a sip of water from a heavy crystal tumbler. "So, I have some good news. CENTIEN's on target to deliver the CENTRIXS updates." They both paused the conversation as a waitress brought them their plates of food.

"I already know this information." Jamison took a bite of his shish kebab. "I know everything that happens in your company." Smiling, he sipped green tea and looked deceptively like a cultured British expat. The man was polished and beyond suspicion as he set up foreign bank accounts and laundered funds. A necessary evil in the world of espionage

Jamison and Casper owned a prestigious auction house as their business cover. Lear, a committed patron of artists, found this ironic as neither of the two men would know fine art even if it walked up and bit them on their posh asses. Great art was rarely produced anymore, because it was rarely encouraged or attempted. These two frauds specialized in the avant garde, Ambition, Distraction, Uglification, and Derision- adding to the destruction of visual art and beauty in the world.

Murder, Inc. should be their business name.

He swallowed, nervously. "Then why did you ask to meet with me today?" Across the room, two loincloth-clad Sumo wrestlers carefully circled each other in the ring, then charged. He winced as their giant heads butted together making a loud cracking noise. The oiled giants grunted and stomped their feet as they tried to flip each other to the ground.

"I'm making you an offer you can't refuse." Jamison smiled his features at odds with his serious tone. Lear felt the room shrink. His heart pounded in his rib cage. "This country's stuck in the past. The future of the financial industry is in crypto and Universal Basic Income. The New World Order's here and you need to be a part of it." He gestured to the memorial pictures of Nixon and the first Bush president hanging on the wall. "We created those icons and left our mark on the world through those men when we implemented Bretton Woods." He patted his lips with a napkin. "And took down the towers."

Lear's mouth compressed tight enough to whiten the skin around his mouth. "Those presidents are disgraced war criminals." Raymond was right. He never should indebted CENTIEN to this pathological cabal. He swallowed as he pushed his plate away, fearing it might be laced with poison. "I'm not sure CENTIEN's in a position to accommodate your agency right now."

Jamison ignored the other man's discomfort and expertly secured a spring roll with a pair of chopsticks. "Steve Jobs said he wanted to leave a ding in the universe. Working with him, we put an IPhone into the hand of nearly every person on the globe. His technology allowed us to track and monitor ninety-nine percent of the population." He neatly folded his napkin and placed it beside his plate. "He wasn't our creation, but in the end, we controlled him. We lost an irreplaceable asset when he died." Jamison cocked his head like a bird, his eyes glittering. "Do you understand why we need CENTIEN?"

"You need people in the public eye they trust to manage the masses." Lear felt sick to his stomach.

Jamison nodded. "Those leaders were our creations, our celebrated immortals when we held them up and our reviled henchmen when we tore them down. If the public knew the truth about the free energy technology that we've suppressed, then they'd revolt against us."

"Those presidents were your clueless puppets. America got rich because of all the countries around the world working their asses off to get enough petro dollars to keep their transportation veins running. Free energy technology would advance everyone's quality of life."

"Exactly." Jamison smiled. "The public needs to be continually fooled and kept in the dark. There's still more work to be done. That's why we want Sinclair and you in our talent pool."

"What do you mean, want? We already work for you."

"I'm not talking about government contracts and undisclosed side deals. We want you to join The Club."

Mysterious gas line explosions, visions of red scarf door knob suicides, and unexplained car crashes flashed through Lear's mind. What would his wife and the kids do if he was killed?  In a cold sweat, he checked to see if the path to the restaurant's exit was impeded.