'The Perfect Job' by Julia Hughes
The Perfect Job
Courtney Wilson squared off papers into an oblong pile, and began checking out backgrounds. Ninety men and eleven women had applied for eight vacancies. The short-listed applicants' lives were chronicled in black ink on the forms as neatly as their handwriting would allow. These were the chosen ones–once references were obtained and they were confirmed as trustworthy, they'd be employed by Rock Solid Security, the fastest growing security company in London.
Courtney began by firing off twelve emails. Each man (despite equality laws her boss, Mr Bolan only employed male security guards) had granted permission for RSS to contact previous employers for references. Each man's fate depended upon how swiftly those previous employers responded: The first eight applicants whose credentials proved sound would be formally offered employment by old man Bolan. Courtney returned to the top of the stack and began trawling the web.
The first two companies didn't have websites. She could have checked Company's House, but they took weeks to respond. It had been agreed at board level that if names and addresses checked out with 192.com they were "kosher".
Her fingernails tapped against the passport sized photograph of the third applicant, Jack Ramsey. Wide broad forehead under dark, almost black cropped hair, deep brown eyes, and a dimple in his chin. He'd shone in his interview–glowing as he spoke of his adventures in Bosnia, teaching underprivileged children English. Since returning to the UK, he'd been seeking work, picking up causal doorman/bouncer hours with a small agency. 'But I'm joining the police part time too – as a "Special"; my medical is next month.' He'd explained, handing over a letter from Oxfordshire Police.
Bolan had given the letter a cursory glance, nodding his approval for Jack's community spirit.
'What else you got in that file son?' He asked. Seeming embarrassed, Jack handed over a folder, stuffed with award certificates. 'My achievement folder, from the Army Cadets.' He blushed. 'I wanted to join the army, but my parents …especially my mum …'
'Good lad.' Tanner said. 'You mind your mother, mums know best.'
Jack's gaze met Courtney's, they exchanged smiles.
'Yes sir. I will.' Jack replied.
Bolan murmured just loud enough to be heard: 'Respects his elders – I like that.' And he'd moved Ramsey's application form to the left, onto the smaller pile of papers. Jack's eyes widened at Courtney's in an unspoken question, to which she'd nodded, and he'd smiled again, momentarily seeming almost wolf like.
'So, if we offered you this position, where do you see yourself in five years?' Bolan launched into the "second stage" questions. Straightening his tie, Ramsey responded eagerly: He'd researched everything he could about RSS. '– I know you promote from within, and I'd welcome the chance to take on extra responsibility.' This time, he reminded Courtney of a fox about to enter the chicken coop. Jack directed the slightest of winks at her – as though to say "best to feed the old codger what he wants, eh sweetheart?"
When Jack finished enthusing about his future should RSS employ him, Tanner wound up the interview, thanking Jack for his time. Almost as an afterthought the old bore added:
'You'll be collecting large amounts of cash from clubs all over London. Nothing to worry about– we've state of the art GPS tracking you, if you're ever more than ten minutes at each pick up point, our own back up unit swoop.'
Courtney had stifled a yawn at that point, she'd heard that spiel so many times before.
Ramsey had seemed impressed though. Flexing his shoulders, so that even under the sober black jacket the ripples of his biceps showed, he replied. 'I'm not worried Sir. Your clients' money will be in safe hands.'
****************************************************************
An electronic 'ping' signalling incoming email jolted Courtney back to the present. She clicked on her email folder to find five responses already from referees, none of them from "Pitchers" – Jack's employers. He'd spoken of Marlene Pitcher with affection, explaining that while she might be a little "rough and ready" she provided some upmarket clubs with quality doormen. Courtney sighed, wondering if Jack was "hooked up" as she scrutinised the somewhat ambitious website for the small security agency Jack Ramsey gave as his "current employer". Another email pinged in – Courtney frowned, and sent her computer into hibernation mode. She straightened her paperwork once more. From the top of the applicants' pile, Jack's warm brown eyes implored her mutely.
Picking up her office phone, Courtney dialled for an outside line, then a number in Oxfordshire.
A voice confirmed she'd connected with Jennifer Clawson, manager of "Twilight Gardens" then in clipped tones asked how she could help. Courtney pictured a middle aged matron on the other end of the line. 'I'm calling from "Rock Solid Security", Jack Ramsey has given your name as a reference.'
The brusque manner disappeared. 'I've known Jack since he was fourteen – lovely boy – used to cut the residents' lawns. He's just back from abroad you know – '
Cutting the woman short, Courtney thanked her and replaced the handset. May as well give Marlene Pitcher a ring, she thought, and dialled out again.
**********************************************************************
Frankie Powell twisted the yale key in the lock, and pushed against the front door. As he stepped into the cluttered living room, a mobile phone shrilled out. The middle aged woman hunched over a laptop placed a finger to her lips to hush him, grinning back at Frankie when he jabbed both thumbs into the air triumphantly.
'Yeah – this is Marlene Pitcher – 'ow can I 'elp?' Frankie grinned widely, as in gravely tones "Marlene" assured the caller 'Jacky, 'is a lovely bloke, I'll be gutted to lose him.' Promising to respond to RSS's email immediately, she disconnected and chucked the mobile into the wastepaper bin, where it joined three others.
'Piece of cake. Keep your head down and be the perfect employee for a couple of months, Frankie – I reckon they'll be good for at least two hundred grand.' The "Estuary Cockney" of "Marlene" had been replaced by a more refined "home counties" accent similar to the one used by Jennifer Clawson.
Frankie Powell aka Jack Ramsey crossed over to the sofa, skirting a pile of blank Sunday School "good attendance" certificates, to deliver a bone crunching hug; grimacing at the rather flashy website especially created for "Pitchers Security."
'This should be the last job son, we'll be able to retire after this one.'
Laughing outloud, Frankie headed for the bathroom, loosening his tie and shrugging off his jacket as he went.
''Whatever you say mum. You know best.'
This original piece of Flash Fiction "The Perfect Job" was written in 2012 by Julia Hughes and remains the property of the author. All rights reserved. The Perfect Job appears on Laurel Levand's site with the full permission of the author, but may not otherwise be reproduced in any form, in whole or in part, without written permission from the author, or her agents, Talon Publishing.
Julia Hughes is the author of the Celtic Cousins' Adventures, and the romantic fairy tale romance "The Bridle Path". Her latest title is a young adult fantasy "The Griffin Cryer", was recently released by Talon Publishing and is already receiving rave reviews. Signed numbered glossy cover prints of "The Griffin Cryer" are available free, in a limited edition of 100. Freebies.
You can read an excerpt of "The Griffin Cryer" here.
Julia Hughes is the author of the Celtic Cousins' Adventures, and the romantic fairy tale romance "The Bridle Path". Her latest title is a young adult fantasy "The Griffin Cryer", was recently released by Talon Publishing and is already receiving rave reviews. Signed numbered glossy cover prints of "The Griffin Cryer" are available free, in a limited edition of 100. Freebies.
If you would like to participate in Flash Fiction Friday, you can find the sign-up here.
Courtney Wilson squared off papers into an oblong pile, and began checking out backgrounds. Ninety men and eleven women had applied for eight vacancies. The short-listed applicants' lives were chronicled in black ink on the forms as neatly as their handwriting would allow. These were the chosen ones–once references were obtained and they were confirmed as trustworthy, they'd be employed by Rock Solid Security, the fastest growing security company in London.
Courtney began by firing off twelve emails. Each man (despite equality laws her boss, Mr Bolan only employed male security guards) had granted permission for RSS to contact previous employers for references. Each man's fate depended upon how swiftly those previous employers responded: The first eight applicants whose credentials proved sound would be formally offered employment by old man Bolan. Courtney returned to the top of the stack and began trawling the web.
The first two companies didn't have websites. She could have checked Company's House, but they took weeks to respond. It had been agreed at board level that if names and addresses checked out with 192.com they were "kosher".
Her fingernails tapped against the passport sized photograph of the third applicant, Jack Ramsey. Wide broad forehead under dark, almost black cropped hair, deep brown eyes, and a dimple in his chin. He'd shone in his interview–glowing as he spoke of his adventures in Bosnia, teaching underprivileged children English. Since returning to the UK, he'd been seeking work, picking up causal doorman/bouncer hours with a small agency. 'But I'm joining the police part time too – as a "Special"; my medical is next month.' He'd explained, handing over a letter from Oxfordshire Police.
Bolan had given the letter a cursory glance, nodding his approval for Jack's community spirit.
'What else you got in that file son?' He asked. Seeming embarrassed, Jack handed over a folder, stuffed with award certificates. 'My achievement folder, from the Army Cadets.' He blushed. 'I wanted to join the army, but my parents …especially my mum …'
'Good lad.' Tanner said. 'You mind your mother, mums know best.'
Jack's gaze met Courtney's, they exchanged smiles.
'Yes sir. I will.' Jack replied.
Bolan murmured just loud enough to be heard: 'Respects his elders – I like that.' And he'd moved Ramsey's application form to the left, onto the smaller pile of papers. Jack's eyes widened at Courtney's in an unspoken question, to which she'd nodded, and he'd smiled again, momentarily seeming almost wolf like.
'So, if we offered you this position, where do you see yourself in five years?' Bolan launched into the "second stage" questions. Straightening his tie, Ramsey responded eagerly: He'd researched everything he could about RSS. '– I know you promote from within, and I'd welcome the chance to take on extra responsibility.' This time, he reminded Courtney of a fox about to enter the chicken coop. Jack directed the slightest of winks at her – as though to say "best to feed the old codger what he wants, eh sweetheart?"
When Jack finished enthusing about his future should RSS employ him, Tanner wound up the interview, thanking Jack for his time. Almost as an afterthought the old bore added:
'You'll be collecting large amounts of cash from clubs all over London. Nothing to worry about– we've state of the art GPS tracking you, if you're ever more than ten minutes at each pick up point, our own back up unit swoop.'
Courtney had stifled a yawn at that point, she'd heard that spiel so many times before.
Ramsey had seemed impressed though. Flexing his shoulders, so that even under the sober black jacket the ripples of his biceps showed, he replied. 'I'm not worried Sir. Your clients' money will be in safe hands.'
****************************************************************
An electronic 'ping' signalling incoming email jolted Courtney back to the present. She clicked on her email folder to find five responses already from referees, none of them from "Pitchers" – Jack's employers. He'd spoken of Marlene Pitcher with affection, explaining that while she might be a little "rough and ready" she provided some upmarket clubs with quality doormen. Courtney sighed, wondering if Jack was "hooked up" as she scrutinised the somewhat ambitious website for the small security agency Jack Ramsey gave as his "current employer". Another email pinged in – Courtney frowned, and sent her computer into hibernation mode. She straightened her paperwork once more. From the top of the applicants' pile, Jack's warm brown eyes implored her mutely.
Picking up her office phone, Courtney dialled for an outside line, then a number in Oxfordshire.
A voice confirmed she'd connected with Jennifer Clawson, manager of "Twilight Gardens" then in clipped tones asked how she could help. Courtney pictured a middle aged matron on the other end of the line. 'I'm calling from "Rock Solid Security", Jack Ramsey has given your name as a reference.'
The brusque manner disappeared. 'I've known Jack since he was fourteen – lovely boy – used to cut the residents' lawns. He's just back from abroad you know – '
Cutting the woman short, Courtney thanked her and replaced the handset. May as well give Marlene Pitcher a ring, she thought, and dialled out again.
**********************************************************************
Frankie Powell twisted the yale key in the lock, and pushed against the front door. As he stepped into the cluttered living room, a mobile phone shrilled out. The middle aged woman hunched over a laptop placed a finger to her lips to hush him, grinning back at Frankie when he jabbed both thumbs into the air triumphantly.
'Yeah – this is Marlene Pitcher – 'ow can I 'elp?' Frankie grinned widely, as in gravely tones "Marlene" assured the caller 'Jacky, 'is a lovely bloke, I'll be gutted to lose him.' Promising to respond to RSS's email immediately, she disconnected and chucked the mobile into the wastepaper bin, where it joined three others.
'Piece of cake. Keep your head down and be the perfect employee for a couple of months, Frankie – I reckon they'll be good for at least two hundred grand.' The "Estuary Cockney" of "Marlene" had been replaced by a more refined "home counties" accent similar to the one used by Jennifer Clawson.
Frankie Powell aka Jack Ramsey crossed over to the sofa, skirting a pile of blank Sunday School "good attendance" certificates, to deliver a bone crunching hug; grimacing at the rather flashy website especially created for "Pitchers Security."
'This should be the last job son, we'll be able to retire after this one.'
Laughing outloud, Frankie headed for the bathroom, loosening his tie and shrugging off his jacket as he went.
''Whatever you say mum. You know best.'
This original piece of Flash Fiction "The Perfect Job" was written in 2012 by Julia Hughes and remains the property of the author. All rights reserved. The Perfect Job appears on Laurel Levand's site with the full permission of the author, but may not otherwise be reproduced in any form, in whole or in part, without written permission from the author, or her agents, Talon Publishing.
Julia Hughes is the author of the Celtic Cousins' Adventures, and the romantic fairy tale romance "The Bridle Path". Her latest title is a young adult fantasy "The Griffin Cryer", was recently released by Talon Publishing and is already receiving rave reviews. Signed numbered glossy cover prints of "The Griffin Cryer" are available free, in a limited edition of 100. Freebies.
You can read an excerpt of "The Griffin Cryer" here.
Julia Hughes is the author of the Celtic Cousins' Adventures, and the romantic fairy tale romance "The Bridle Path". Her latest title is a young adult fantasy "The Griffin Cryer", was recently released by Talon Publishing and is already receiving rave reviews. Signed numbered glossy cover prints of "The Griffin Cryer" are available free, in a limited edition of 100. Freebies.
If you would like to participate in Flash Fiction Friday, you can find the sign-up here.
No comments have been added yet.
