Within The Urban Jungle

[SimonW]

( chapter 4, part 7… )

“The Richmond Account is not drawn paperwork, Stephen. It is a digital account hidden within the firm’s deep network data system. Physically you never touched it, that is true. But my sources have detected an anomaly within our system. And that anomaly has your digital fingerprints all over the Richmond Account that triggered a security breach. I am sorry Stephen, but I have to let you go,” gravely murmured Mr. Hoatzin seriously was a grim frown of resolution upon his face.
Stephen Tyler’s head was wildly spinning as he tried to grasp what his boss was saying to him. It did not make any sense, he had no idea what Mr. Hoatzin was saying to him. He understood the words and the meaning behind them but was a simple wrench monkey with a corporate degree in law and undergraduate in I.T. He understood the implications and the technological terms, only the base grasp of the meaning behind them did not make sense.
“I’m sorry, Sir. I do not understand. How could I have left my digital fingerprints to an account I know nothing about?” Stephen Tyler vehemently uttered with indignant feeling as the usually soft spoken man rose up out of the office chair.
Mr. Henry Hoatzin did not react to this outburst, merely shrugging his broad shoulders like an impassive gorilla being unimpressed.
“I’m sorry, Stephen. This is just company policy. I can’t allow you to be a representative of this firm any longer due to this breach of internal security,” Mr. Hoatzin stated plainly as he looked at the internal turmoil unfold before him in Stephen Tyler’s eyes.

( to be continued… )

 

[SimonW]

( chapter 4, part 8… )

To say it was not surprising to Stephen Tyler would be an understatement, having been terminated from his job was the least of his worries. It had been ten minutes ago, when he had simply nodded in understanding to his former employer, that his brain just seemed to accept the consequences of what was happening to him in that moment and he was just so shocked by the accusation and dismissal that he was flying on automatic pilot. He was currently packing up his meagre belongings from his desk into a stationary box he had collected from the company closet after he had exited his boss’s office.
The other office workers did not notice, or if they did, they pretended not to, for this spectacle of office etiquette was to not get involved unless absolutely necessary. Luckily for Stephen Tyler, Jerry was one a bit slow on the ball about reading a situation right in front of him.
As Stephen Tyler was packing things up from his desk, namely a small flowerpot with a plastic plant named Fredrick, Jerry was beside the still dejected Stephen with a look of confusion upon his face at seeing Stephen’s ashen white face.
“Dude, what happened?” Jerry asked Stephen, leaning against the partial cubicle wall of Stephen’s workspace that was for privacy.
Stephen did not reply at first, still in a slight daze of what had transpired eleven minutes ago in his now ex-boss’s office.
“I…I don’t know,” lamely muttered Stephen, allowing himself to let his emotions get the better of him in this fraction of a moment before he regained control of himself once more in a semi-professional manner.
Jerry seemed sympathetic to Stephen’s plight and gave a frown of remorse for his office friend.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Jerry asked but knew from the look in Stephen’s eyes that it was a lame offer that would fall upon deaf ears.
As expected, Stephen just shook his head in response, having already accepted his fate. Even though Stephen Tyler knew in his heart he had done nothing wrong to warrant this injustice.
“Thanks for offering, though,” Stephen Tyler stated as he picked up his box of belongings from his office desk and made his walk of shame towards the elevator without looking back.
He could feel the stares of his workmates upon his back as he stopped in front of the elevator as it made the all too familiar ding after he had pushed the button to the side of him to call it up to the office floor.
It dinged again as the elevator reached the floor Stephen Tyler was on, opening the doors as if signalling an unspoken gloom awaited the now jobless man that awaited it.
Stephen Tyler entered the open maw with reckless abandon, turning to face the place he had known for more than five years of his life for the last time. He glanced back, seeing the pitying faces of what he knew as friends of the office, the desperate shackles of meticulously prepared chains of the working class toiling an ever-beating drum to what the business world called mediocrity.
Jerry gave a sombre final wave of farewell, cementing in stone what Stephen Tyler finally knew what freedom really was in Urban Jungle Business District. It was freedom from the cage and chains, but an even more dreary thought, that Stephen Tyler was truely alone.


( to be continued… )

 

[SimonW]

( chapter 4, part 9… )


The door of the interview room opened after the barked order of Chief Detective Henry Fonda’s allowance was heard.
A policewoman stood within the doorway between the threshold of the doorframe separating the hallway and interview room four where the Chief Detective and what appeared to be a homeless man were within. She had on the regulatory police uniform for the female Officers, aside from wearing a pair of long black jeans that were a substitute option for garments worn by the usual desk duty officers. She had a rosy disposition on her face with the eager glint behind her brown eyes that stated she was still slightly inexperienced on the force.
Officer Mary Kendirke held no assumptions as she had stared into the room of the beggar man, unsure in whether he was a witness or a suspect in a crime. She was not on duty at the time of Hobo Ben’s flashy arrest earlier on. She was just told what she was told to deliver towards the Chief Detective as soon as possible. It was a piece of paper with some forensic documentation upon it, which she held with some trepidation within her left hand as she had opened the door with her right.
Without saying anything, she entered the room with the two men and placed it out in front of Chief Detective Henry Fonda’s outstretched hand as he took it.
“You may go,” Chief Detective Fonda muttered without glancing over at Officer Kendirke.
He gazed at the document with silent interest.
Nodding slightly in response to this, Officer Mary Kendirke left with efficient ease, closing the door behind herself to go back to her hourly duties from behind her desk.
Within Interview Room Four, Chief Detective Henry Fonda and Benjamin Swift sat for a few seconds in stony silence as the policewoman had left and Chief Detective Fonda perused the forensic report in front of himself.
Suddenly, with an outward sigh as his shoulders sagged, Chief Detective Fonda allowed his eyes to tear away from the piece of paper he was reading and gave his head a shake of weariness at Hobo Ben.
“Anything interesting?” incredulously asked Hobo Ben, his face a puzzled expression across it.
“Well, news of a sort,” gruffly uttered Chief Detective Fonda with a heavy look of grave intention. “The gun you came in with has forensic traces of blood from a victim we found this morning. It is upon the butt end of the pistol. So, tell me, does the name Thomas Lemund mean anything to you?”


End of Chapter 4.


( to be continued… )

 

[SimonW]

( chapter 5, part 1… )


Chapter 5: Judgment Daunting

It was a slow mid-day to Robert Moss as the sun rose to its zenith point, signifying the end of the brunch crowd to make way for the lunch time rabble. He had barely sold his usual quota by this time, let alone the daily newspapers that had hardly any interesting news as far as Robert could tell.
With a chagrin look of bemused disappointment upon his face, the forty year old paper peddler decided to take his midday lunch break upon the cornerstone of this metropolis city known as Urban Jungle. Robert took great care with his packed luncheon within a brown paper bag, a slice of homemade love from his wife whom prepared it specially for him before he had left their apartment flat for work every day to make his living upon his meagre wage.
With a heavy heart of forlornly fashion, Robert Moss left his pop-up newspaper stall and traversed over to a nearby shabby looking and rusted over metal bench. Robert was accustomed to sit at due to proximity and ease of seating so not to cause undue discomfort for his slightly stumped leg.
Sighing in a relieved manner, Robert Moss began unwrapping his baloney sandwich that was served with a top of lettuce and pickled relish. He ate it without rushing, knowing full well that he had no need to, for the sun would not rush along upon this day, so neither should he.
The only peculiar thing that Robert Moss noticed as he ate his lunch silently and watching the world pass by himself was a sense of curious dread. The Urban Jungle knew not what he saw, only that Robert Moss, in his sensible reasoning, was going to witness something that fateful day that would change his life forever.

( to be continued… )