The Bouate in beer

ERIC VINCENT

THE BOUATE IN BEER

© Eric VINCENT. All rights reserved.

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The Bouate in beer

Web : http://ericvincent.no-ip.org/

© Eric Vincent From 2007 to 2011. All rights reserved. Any resemblance to situations or characters that existed, existing or future, is purely coincidental.

© Eric VINCENT. All rights reserved.

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The Bouate in beer

EPISODE 20: THE LIST GROWS UP

294 before D-day A cold wind blew across the company. Old used paper fluttered from an office to another. Most of windows were broken and the ripped furniture laid on the carpet full of water. The flagship of the food giant was sinking under the weight of waterways. All valuables were gone, swept away by bailiffs’ raptors or greedy employees. The staff no longer haunted the storey as before. The “Bouate” died! In the windy whistle only pierced a noxious wave: a repetitive squeak, annoying and disruptive. The evil radio clock was hidden, inaccessible and bellowed its decibels. An angry fist fell down on the bad number 7, the 7 of 7:00 a.m. Melanie silenced the unwelcome object. - Shit! Hoover, for once I made a delicious dream, it must stop because of this damned alarm clock ! The mutt stretched and went to meet his mistress, as his understood she was in a bad mood. He should promptly mitigate this foul mood. - Can you dig the difference between nightmares and those of others? Hey? My dreams are their nightmares and vice versa ! Did you understand? Hey? The Labrador retriever had got a receiver failure. A dream equals a nightmare? His mistress certainly had nothing in common with the typical person. - Well ... If I don’t take off now, I never will. She felt the dog anxious. - What? You want to go in this shit firm? Or do you need to pee? The excitement of the mutt deepened. In all likelihood, his bladder would hold no longer. - That's what I thought! Ah ... Finally, it's not bad to be a mutt like you. Never desire, just needs to be met. No questions to ask, no reflection, little or no action except to shake your ass, lifting the leg or look up a chicken in a roasting pan. The dog jumped on her knees. - And no need to try to understand, you do nothing rods. Yeah, dog's life is cool. Do we exchange roles? No? I'll teach you to gun down all stupid, unnecessary, whiners people, without forgetting the Bois-Joli de la Hussarde.

© Eric VINCENT. All rights reserved.

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The Bouate in beer

Hoover barked. - Ah! You approve the cleaning of the other moron with particle! Well! Damn, if I only could send him a bullet between his eyes! It would relieve me, you can’t imagine how much. Since he invited me in his shitty castle, he can’t stop offer me expensive gifts I do not care. Moreover, he force-fed me like a goose in his starred restaurants! He also forcefeeds you; you're fat as a suckling pig! Fucking bastard of Bois-Joli! As soon as Gary gives me the permission to release a Blaster, I finished all of them with a Gatling gun and the other dickhead will be the first on the list! The dog laid on the ground and put his front paws on the nose, obscuring his vision. Almost as if he disapproved about Melanie. The mutt sometimes mutt scared her. Was he finally intelligent? Strange! The spy yelled: - Take your paws off from your vision field, if you want me to be operational this morning! And do not mess with me, OK? I want this to be a good day! I want a genius idea to put the “Bouate” kneeling! It was not won. But she did not lose hope, of course! Days were passing, time was doing its work and his future was at stake. *** When she crossed the mechanical doors of the basement, Melanie had cherished the hope his dream was fulfilled. The disappointment was as high as the activity of human hive. The parking lot was swarming with German-made cars whose price was proportional to employee salaries. Sudden desire to undermine the building connecting the explosives with patience to a single switch, desire to caress the button, enjoyment of driving, orgasm of explosion. Hum! She had the address book, the knowledge to achieve it. Like the Twin Towers! Cram the walls with explosives and launch an external attack to cover his misdeeds. No, too complicated. The Twin Towers were peppered before the planned attack: during the building time, perhaps. She had to do it another way, less dramatic. What a waste of time! Melanie left the van and high jacked Hoover’s vision. She looked around. She tried to escape the morning Edmond’s kiss, always lurking behind a pillar or a car in ambush to lick her hands! Instead of this, she faced Maeva Tanaka, just out of her Italian Fiat 500. It was impossible to avoid Maeva: her perfume, Dior Poison, would mark anyone with an ordinary flair and even better a human endowed of an almost canine olfaction. - Hi Melanie! - Hi the sexy bomb! - Hey! You are so right... - What? Did you put a grenade in your pants, this morning? - Melanie, you're not far from the truth! - Oh! Why? - You know, we were at Karl’s show, last Saturday night? © Eric VINCENT. All rights reserved.

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The Bouate in beer

- Yes. I didn’t come because… well… It is visual, you dig? - Of course! But with Delphine, we learned a few earthy things about Victoire. - Oh? Tell tell it ! - She was waiting for us at the exit of Bamboo's bar, with radical Catholic protesters. With signs and all the fuss! - Dirt of stuck! It sucks! - Yeah, well ... We were stashed. We followed her and, at a given moment, she hided herself in a street and changed her cloths. No more duds of stuck ! Leather from head to feet, boots, heels, all! She spun after. And guess what place we’ve reached? - I don’t know. - A sadomasochistic club! - What?! - Yeah, you heard it! Victory is leather, whips, chains and so on! We played the game: we took some masks and even participated! I derusted as much as my ass is only fire, today! Melanie was loud of laugh:

- Ah ah ah! The news was crisp and worth its weight in exchange currency. - Laugh! I wanted to see you at this eve! - No way! - I know! So I finish the story. The annoying thing is that they kept our handbags, our belongings at the club entrance. No way to bring proof of his double play except ... except ... Delphine dug up a perverted guy who loves gadgets and gave her a strip watch, a true piece of technology that can make photos and small movies. While walking, we filmed ans photographed Victoire the bitch! - It's great! Damn, this pitcher pretends to be a holy girl and in fact, this is the most twisted. - Well I tell you one thing: she should let me quiet otherwise, I put the photos prominently on her desk. - I would pay to see her face! She will have to leave. Bad press for her “virginity” she boasts as much as she can! - Yes, it is not wrong! The mole will enjoy it. - The mole? What mole? - The mole who organizes the sabotage of the Bouate’s operations. You're not aware? - No. You mean this… again? Like with Fleur de Hohenberg? - Exactly! - Who suspects the presence of a new one? - Tristan, of course! Who else but Tristan was smart enough to make the connection between the past slaughter and the present facts? Eric, maybe. Not sure. He hovered at fifteen thousand feet. - We know a name? © Eric VINCENT. All rights reserved.

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The Bouate in beer

- Well, no, we don’t know who that mole is. Otherwise, it would not be a mole! Maeva stopped in front of the lift and did not stop to laugh out loud (And when she displayed her throat, giggles were sure!). She attracted the attention of some employees getting out of their vehicles (But did she have to laugh for astray?). Melanie became aware of the hilarious potential of the question: - I’m stupid. My God! When I do not have my liter of coffee in the horn, I'm good for nothing! - For me, it’s when I have not had my legs in the air! - Oh, I see! Note, you had your dose with the sadomasochists. - Ah yes then! They took me for a rag doll! Delphine can’t also sit down, her buttocks hurt! - Well, could you narrate your eve with details, about the stuck that’s no longer stuck? I'm all ears. In fact, does she know you were at the club? - Absolutely no. She was too busy... the Training Director smirked. - Great! Congratulations, girls! You are true detectives! And... well... but if she is the... - The Mole? Do you think Melanie? - She has a totally secret double life ... doesn’t she? - Possible ... You think she's dangerous? - I don’t know but she is not afraid of torture, links and chains. You never know! - Yes ... it's true ... Well, I leave you, Melanie! I’m at my floor. - OK. See you later! The Nippon left the lift. The spy rubbed her hands. Compromising pictures of Victoire, it was a godsend. Instill in the scatterbrain of Maeva the idea that the HRD assistant could be a betrayer, was great art. Miss Tanaka was more talkative than a magpie. In a jiffy, the rumor would spread in the corridors of society. Moreover, if Maeva had drooled their findings to Melanie, despite the weakness of their relationship, it was a clue about the mass distribution which the Italian-Japanese was able in the coming hours. Victoire had chickweed to do and it was a true luck. This stuck was dangerous because more intelligent than her boss and may well advise. So if Melanie could clear the “problem”, it would be a new cloud over the Bouate’s horizon. The young woman and her dog arrived at their office. Translations accumulated. At the top of the stack of memos and notes to be translated, there was a roll of taped paper. She opened and put it in front of Hoover’s eyes. No trace of ink. Nothing, blank paper! Either on the front or on the back. Was it a joke? The Mole! She was suspected and somebody sent her a document to be read by her dog, to take on the fact! She shook the head of the poor mutt who had not asked for anything in order to cover all angles and discover a spy. Nothing! She heaved a sigh of relief. Resting the parchment, she felt bumps on its surface. She slid her fingers and fell into terror. “Dearest Melanie, I took the liberty to translate this text in Braille. It was essential that it should remain a “written” trace of my approach. © Eric VINCENT. All rights reserved.

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The Bouate in beer

We met recently, we had rendezvous for less time but in my mind, there is no place for doubt. My feelings for you are the purest, the noblest that I can conceive. You have conquered me from the first day when I had not yet taken possession of my duties. Since that day, I can hardly wait when I see you anymore, I decay to each of your absence but I am consumed with love for you. You occupy my thoughts, you oxygenate my outstanding heart and you feed my lips with your words. My whole family enjoyed it up and it is a victory for me because now, I realize that you're a part of my family. So Melanie, I will write these solemn words: Melanie, I have the great honor to ask you to be my wife, for better or worse, in front of the sole witness: God. Sincerely yours, Edmond.” The declaration escaped her hands. She was under rage effect. The whole story was too far for nothing. The sabotage and infiltration took too much time, she was taking too many risks and did not relate enough. What new joke of the CIA should she face to give pleasure to the emissaries of Venus? No, too much, too! Now she would do some bullshit to satisfy Gary’s requirements and would use really her efficient and expeditious methods. The list of the “out” staff would increase… *** The spy should give news to her boss with an encrypted phone, on Monday night. It was a habit, a tradition. (Even if it is not true, I decide for the purposes of the scenario and twists) Tonight, she didn’t derogate. She should introduce her version of facts and Gary should swallow and digest it without protest. The ringtone sounded right at time. Melanie had the device in hand, ready to pounce. - Melanie? - Yes, it's me. Crackling, the line was secured. - Some news? - Excellent! - Really? Tell me. - I give you a quick rundown of my actions since my entrance. Hubert Iffigenac was replaced by Edmond Bois-Joli de la Hussarde, the human resources clown with a sinister past. With this guy, there is no risk to recruit good employees. Eduardo Picolini, the brilliant head of purchasing department, is jailed and replaced by the dumbest. Finally, thanks to my personal antennas, some anonymous mails and a grudge limitless Olivier Pascalli landed to commit a resounding tax adjustment. - But it's slow, to slow. - No, it’s moving. An estimate has been advanced by the sad sire and his team. The bill would amount to € 7 million, plus penalties for late payment and those for multimedia materials held illegally. The total bill will amount to approximately € 10 million. - Not bad! © Eric VINCENT. All rights reserved.

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The Bouate in beer

- It's nothing. There will also indicted people after a thorough look at the tax situation. - At least! - The mistakes of each other have cost a small million since the beginning of operations. Ombeline Castel de la Futaie seems feverish lately. I wonder if Eric Couillon did not try to seduce her which disturbs her a little bit. - Okay. - Two employees have found dirty things about the private life of the HRD assistant. The both are likely to do my own job. There’s a lot of chatting in the hallways. - Dig if they falter on the spot. - I will not fail. Finally, a interesting detail: this morning, Tania Siberiankov and Karl Thorsten were not present. Tania for disease. Karl, for personal reasons. I learned more about it: she was admitted at the Bretonneau hospital in the 18th district. Guess who filled in the form requirements? - Thorsten? - Bingo! - Will she die? - Yes. She won’t last a long time. - Thorsten won’t be occupied during an eternity. Unfortunately! But for her, it is excellent news. The “Icecream” segment encroaches the flowerbeds of Venus. Malcolm will be delighted with this death. What else? - Eric Couillon. - He must be fired. He is always there to catch blunders, it becomes exasperating! - Exactly. But I do not have much against him. He falls in love with Ombeline he changed style, he is dreaming but his effectiveness is not undermined. So ... if I could get my guns to ... - No way! I do not want bloodshed! - Shit! Your stupid ethical sucks! You're never happy! - Do what you want but clean. This guy is your priority. And then, you will attack Tristan. He spoke, he decided. But she did not think less. She had an ambitious project in mind. If all went well, she would be spending happy days in the Bahamas in three months, until the chain reaction begins. Gary was a hundred leagues to imagine that she was nearing her goal. She would astonish him and all those CIA idiots. She and Hoover would feed themselves with free Venus food until the end of their existence. ***

© Eric VINCENT. All rights reserved.

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