I pirouetted into my seat with a flourish that would make Justin Timberlake weep.
Then I did a rapid double take at the person sitting beside me.
Mikey? What the hell are you doing here? I thought you were based in the Ganymede office these days?
Mikey looked over at me with a weariness that suggested he had been up all night waggling his joystick. Inwardly I shuddered at the thought of what his flat would look like under the glare of a UV darklight.
The server room is overheating, they have sent a load of us back whilst they investigate what the problem is.
I put my lips together and issued a soft breeping noise which I normally reserved for deep thought or lady pleasing.
Simples. Insufficient space and air con for the number of servers we are trying to cram in there.
I deduced with a smirk.
Mikey shrugged, in that squirmy way that gerbils do when they are held tightly for a shaving.
Dunno, I guess whoever calls the shots decides how much goes where?
He said.
I tilted my head to the side. Whoever calls the shots... That phrase struck a chord in me, an E# perhaps?
A lot had happened in this mysterious workplace of mine. My detectivity had been called in on all sorts of cases. Tomfoolery involving vampires, robots and even multiversal time travel.
I realised with a jolt however that I had never looked to the source of it all. The one who decided these things. The person in charge who decided what will be, will be...
Hey, Mikey. You like piss-tachios?
What? Erm, yeah, I like pistachios. Why?
I shook my head in dismay.
Trust me, Mikey. When they ask you if you like 'piss-tachios' in Prison, you had better say no.
Mikey slammed down a pen that I hadn't even noticed he had been holding. I was getting slow.
For the last fucking time you dick, I am NOT going to Prison. Ok!?
I got up and reached for my fedora, propping it stylishly on my velvety head.
That's what they all say, Mikey boy. Right up until they are hanging onto the cell bars whilst Daddy plays 'Bang the Coconuts' on their Cumberbatch.
I marched off as handsomely as I had arrived.
I entered the office canteen, the management card that entitled me to free coffee burning in my pocket begging to be used.
What the hell, I had only had three coffees so far. May as well rack up another.
I headed over to the counter and flashed my jazzy card at the lank-haired girl halfheartedly cleaning the table top with a cloth that looked at if it had been to a milk and cookies party.
Rack me up a mug of brown, lady-chick.
The lady-chick in question gave me a weasely look, no doubt struggling to keep her thunder-cranny from biting her own leg off in the presence of such mannity.
As she thumped various bits of a coffee machine with psychotic frustration, I contemplated Mikey's comment from before.
Who calls the shots around here? In what way?
I jerked around at the interruption to my train of thought, realising that I must have been mumbling aloud.
Behind me panting heavily was Doughnuts. A spectacularly obese and large breasted Systems Analyst. My penis twitched hungrily in its sleep.
Never mind, Doughnuts. Was just thinking out loud.
I dismissed her with a wave of the hand and went back to thinking my deep and lofty thoughts.
Well it sounded to me like you were wonderin who called the shots around here and I thought, in what way, there is more than one.
My arse itched at the buffoonery of the woman before I realised that she might actually know something. I mustered my best diplomatic foot and put it forward.
Alright then, sweetcheeks. You hear about the server room shenanigans at Ganymede?
I watched her carefully.
On hearing my question she stopped panting and shuffled back on her large leathery feet.
I heard about it, they gone and stuck too many racks in that tiny room, what did they expect?
She looked at me with her large oval face, her eyelashes fluttered, glistening with sweat.
Once again my unruly penis twitched. Damn you penis, stand down! I mentally shouted at it.
Who would have given the go ahead for such a thing then?
I asked as casually as I could whilst studiously avoiding staring at her large doughy baps.
Oh that's easy...
She stopped, an alarmed look crossing her face as if she has seen a lettuce.
I mean, well, who knows! It could be anyone!
She said in a strangled, false-sounding voice.
She started backing away from me, her face changing from alarmed to terrified.
I leapt forward as she turned.
You know, don't you?
I hissed, reaching out for her arm.
She shrugged my hand off, looking this way and that.
Come closer.
She whispered.
I bent my head in close. She grabbed it with a hand worthy of a butcher and pulled my ear against her lips.
The Architect, that's the one you want.
She let go of my head and pushed me away, plodding off as if in fear for her life.
I watched her for some time as she clomped away.
The Architect? Looks like this case might be going somewhere...
