Revolver

The boy smiled as he pushed the ticket through to the crinkled hand. It wasn’t often you’d see an man of his age on the Ferris wheel. It was a slow night. This was only his third customer.

The pair ahead of him were well oiled. She giggled while he groped. He had thought of leaving them stranded at the top all night but they weren’t worth his job so he let them out after just two turns. The sickly mess left behind suggested not everything went to plan.

‘We’re closing in 10 minutes’

‘How many turns will I get?’

‘I’ll keep her going unless someone else comes and stop it in 10 minutes if not’.

With a gentle nod his third customer stepped into the pod and sat hunched on the wooden bench.

Slowly she turned.

‘Come here Jack, we having a celebration, Joyce has the champagne’.

One by one his co workers funnelled to the open area where he sat. Fionnuala motioned to the gathering for hush.

‘Jack, it’s been 21 years since you joined us in US IT. Employee number two and dare I say you don’t look a day over 19′. A cruel snort broke the silence.

‘We’d like to mark this occasion with a toast. To Jack!’

As they raised their glasses he stood tall, shook his head and walked. Taking care not to run, he strode the corridor, down the metal staircase and through the double swing doors at reception for the very last time. Just two years ago he had welcomed her into the company. He told everyone how good she would be.

‘Better networked in the US than anyone he knew’, he said. ‘That could only be good for a small office like Dublin. Now we’d get noticed, now they’d see how good we are, despite the recession’.

In the beginning he was naive. It took time to see that she was simply sent to do a job and she was doing it with relish. One after the other she pushed them out. First it was Joe. He made it too easy for her by not coming to meetings. Then Victor. She found a willing ally in Joyce who never liked his forward remarks. A word with HR and he was never seen again. Greg was more stubborn. It took her six months but a less than diligent approach to filing expenses eventually netted him.

So he, Jack McCarthy, was being extra careful, determined not to give any cause. Everything he did was better than good. It was just a game. He was the mouse and his job was to outwit the cat at every turn. Overtime he grew to like the game and found himself warming to her ways. So maybe it wasn’t all that surprising that he was the last to notice the change in her. The tight dress a little too tight, the perfume applied more liberally than before and that girlish playfulness that a unwitting male will always notice too late.

‘Jack, could you help me understand this email?’

He moved to her side of the desk, too close. Bending low to read the screen he brushed her leg. As he turned she held his gaze and in that moment her eyes reflected his future. They’d never believe him over her. He knew he had lost. She knew it too.

He walked on, more measured now, down by the tunnel, under the bridge and along to the Point where teenagers queued for some act that he’d never seen or heard of. For years he had ignored the wheel guarded by the iron clad bunnies but not today. It seemed fitting that he was here, sitting alone in an iconic symbol to the futility of it all. Turning slowly he thought of the last few days of his career. It would end soon and someone else would get on. His mobile rang. Seeing it was her he let it go.