INTERFERENCE (A Short Novel)

I. The Phone

I. The Phone

            "Come here, Jeremy," The Boss said, gesturing at a skinny, sweatshirt-clad guy of his late twenties to come over.

            "What have you done to my phone?" The Boss asked sternly, his voice echoing in his plush, spacious, glass-walled office with a breathtaking panoramic view of the city.

            "Yes, sir?" Jeremy asked.

            "I said what have you done to my phone?"

            The Boss, a rotund man in his fifties, stared condescendingly. Jeremy bounced on the balls of his feet. The presence of The Boss always made him very uneasy. Aside from the fact that he is a large, black guy with a temper, he is the biggest fish in the tank. The Boss. With the capital 'B' (and 'T' for that matter). Jeremy almost regretted being promoted as one of the assistant secretaries for the CEO. Working directly for the CEO is a tough job itself, but working directly for 'The Boss' – as he calls himself – is an even tougher job, tantamount to a daily duty of inserting a football-sized suppository up an elephant's bum – or so Jeremy thought. And The Boss, this downright scary man in front of him, is waving the cellphone under his nose, as if taunting to release a jet of chloroform to knock him of his senses.

            "Jeremy? Are you listening?"

            On the background, 'My Heart Will Go On' is softly playing in the intercom speakers.

            "Jeremy? I said are you listening?"

            "Oh. Yes, sir. I kind of like Celine Dion, too," Jeremy said absentmindedly.

            The Boss slapped his forehead. "'TO ME', you dipshit, 'TO ME', not to the music. Are you listening to me?"

            "Uh... yes sir. What was that again?"

            "You're trying to piss me off, aren't you?"

            "Yes, Boss. Uh, I mean... no, sir. No."

            The Boss coughed. "Jeremy, I only told you to transfer the PL report files to my cell so I can browse it along the way. But, Jeremy, you messed up my phone."

            "No. I... I didn't do anything else, sir. I transferred the files then handed it back to you, remember?" Jeremy said, rather too defensively.

            "Well, look here young man. I can't do anything on it. Can't make a damn call, can't text, can't connect to the net. Plus: I can't receive anything. No calls, no text, no nothing."

            Jeremy held up a finger as if to make a point. "Boss, I simply did what I was told."

            The Boss huffed. "Then explain this to me. Wesley said he called me eight times yesterday and he just can't connect. He thought I changed my number. He even said he texted me several times and I haven't got anything. You see, it's about the Linstradt Transaction. It is that important. An emergency. And this phone's fucked. I've tried making a call for about a hundred times already, and it seemed that all those calls are redirected to this single... weird number with a stupid ringback..."

            "Weird number, sir?" Jeremy queried.

            "It's thirteen digits with an asterisk, and I'm damn sure that's no phone number. Here, see for yourself."