Oct 5, 2007 04:20 PM
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New York, 8:27 AM
Wed Feb 10
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Our story thus far: Balk and Cock, a pair of itinerant internet laborers, wind up working at Old Man Denton's Gawker farm. Though comically oversized, Cock is simple-minded and unaware of his own strength; Balk looks after him and tries to keep him out of trouble. Unfortunately, Cock cannot help his impulses. First he fucks a mouse to death, then a puppy, and then one of the ad sales people. As a lynch mob lead by ad boss Batty closes in, Balk realizes that there's no way he can save his friend this time.
The fluorescent lights shone down on the big black desks. From the distance came the sound of men shouting to one another. Balk turned his head and listened to the shouts.
Cock said, "Balk."
"Yeah."
"Ain't you gonna give me hell?"
"Give ya hell?"
"Sure, like you always done before. Like, 'If I di'n't have you I could focus on art an' stuff—'"
"No," said Balk.
"Well, I can go away," said Cock. "I can run off to HuffPo an' write media if you don' want me no more."
Balk shook himself again. "No, I want you to stay with me here."
Cock said craftily - "Tell me like you done before."
"Tell you what."
"How it's gonna be when we go to Radar."
The air conditioning kicked in and newspapers rustled and invoices blew out of the printer. And the shouts of the ad sales team sounded again, this time much closer than before.
Balk took off his hat. He said, shakily, "Take off your condom, Cock. The air feels fine."
Cock dutifully took of his condom.
"Tell me how it's gonna be."
Balk had been listening to the distant sounds. For a moment he was business-like. "Look acrost Crosby Street, Cock, an' I'll tell you so you can almost see it."
Cock turned his head and looked to see Blakeley filming another idiot man-on-the-street piece. "We gonna get a new office," Balk began. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a revolver; he snapped off the safety and the hand and gun lay on the ground behind Cock's back. He looked at the back of Cock's head, the shiny dome that had done so much damage.
A man's voice called from the conference room, and another man answered.
"Go on," said Cock.
Balk raised the gun and his hand shook, and he dropped his hand to the ground again.
"Go on," said Cock. "How it's gonna be. We gonna get a new office."
"We'll have our own computer," said Balk. "An' maybe our own phone line. And a decent break room. An' maybe free Splenda..."
"For the coffee."
"For the coffee."
"And I get to play wit' the ad sales team."
"An' you get to play with the ad sales team."
Cock giggled with delight. "And live off the fat of the investors."
"Yes."
Cock turned his head.
"No, Cock, look up there towards midtown, like you can already see the place."
Cock obeyed him. Balk looked at the gun. The footsteps in the distance came closer.
"Go on, Balk. When we gonna do it?"
"Gonna do it soon."
"Me an' you."
"You... an' me. Everybody's gonna be nice to you. Ain't gonna be no more trouble. Nobody gonna hurt nobody or get yelled at for not having a post in on time."
Cock said, "I thought you was mad at me, Balk."
"No, Cock," said Balk. "I ain't mad at you. I ain't never been mad and I ain't now. That's one thing I want you to know."
The voices came closer. Balk lifted the gun and listened to the voices.
Cock begged, "Let's do it now. Let's go to Radar now."
"Sure, right now. I gotta. We gotta."
And Balk raised the gun and steadied it, and brought the muzzle of it close to the back of Cock's head. The hand shook violently, but his face set and his hand steadied. He pulled the trigger. The crash of the shot rolled up the office and rolled down again. Cock jarred, and then settled slowly forward to the floor, and it lay without quivering.
The office seemed to fill with cries and with the sound of running feet. Choire's voice shouted, "Balk. Where you at, Balk?"
But Balk sat at the desk and looked at his right hand that had thrown away the gun. The group came to the desk, and Batty was ahead. He saw Cock lying dead on the desk. He went over and looked down at Cock and then he looked back at Balk. "Right in the back of the head," he said softly.
Choire came directly to Balk and sat down beside him. "Never you mind," said Choire. "A guy got to do it sometimes."
Choire twitched Balk's elbow. "Come on, Balk. Me an' you gonna go to Shark Bar and get a drink."
Balk let himself be helped to his feet. "Yeah, a drink."
Choire said, "You hadda, Balk. I swear you hadda. Come with me, I'll tell you what I had ta do ta go to the Observer." He led Balk to the door and toward Spring Street.
Batty and Denton looked after them. And Denton said, "Now what the hell ya suppose is eatin' them two guys?"
Apologies to John Steinbeck.
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