One Hundred Grand (or, Josef Probably Kills Every Day) PG
Posted: Tue Sep 01, 2009 7:41 pm
Beta: The ever-awesome Barb (bank1115). She also supplied me with the name of a wine, since I’m not a connoisseur.
Author’s note: I have two things to say: (1) This story is exactly 1000 words, and (2) My first thoughts upon reading the “One Hundred Grand” part of the challenge were (1) Money, and (2) Josef. But then I figured everyone would be writing about money (and therefore possibly Josef), so I tried to think of another use for “one hundred grand”…
One Hundred Grand (or, Josef Probably Kills Every Day)
It was just after midnight when Mick St. John darkened the door to his best friend’s office.
“Ah, Mick!” Josef exclaimed with pleasure, “Just in time to join me in a little bubbly, my friend!” He waved him in and gestured to the empty armchair in front of his desk where he sat.
“Great,” Mick said as he strode across the room and settled into the chair. “What are we celebrating?”
“Well,” Josef said as he set two wine glasses in front of him on the desk and filled each halfway with '76 Penfolds Grand Hermitage, “if dead people were money, I think I finally made one hundred grand.”
Mick froze as he took the proffered glass. “I beg your pardon?”
“I think I just killed my 100,000th person.”
“Your one hundred thousandth person,” Mick repeated slowly, “…you think.”
“Yeah—well, I can’t be sure. I wasn’t officially keeping count, and my memory’s a little hazy, especially for the first hundred years or so—oh, and I blocked out the entire Victorian era, for obvious reasons. Oh, and I can’t remember most of the 60s and 70s—again, for obvious reasons.” He pursed his lips and tapped a finger lazily on some papers as he looked off to the side, seemingly lost in some sort of recollection. Then he shook himself out of it. “But anyway, according to my estimations, it should be about 100,000 now.”
Mick shook his head slowly. “You know, I once said to Beth that you probably killed every day, but I wasn’t thinking literally!”
“Well, no, of course not—but I’d hate to think you would be so stupid as to exaggerate to a reporter.”
Mick narrowed his eyes.
Josef ignored the look and frowned up at the ceiling in concentration. “Well, let’s do the math, shall we? Let’s see, I was born in 1599; it’s 2009 now—so I’m 410, but I didn’t start killing until I was turned…knock 26 years off of that…that’s 384 years of killing…divide 100,000 by 384, and…okay, so I killed an average of 260 people per 365-day year—that’s decidedly NOT every day!”
Mick threw his hands up in the air. “Great. Fine. I’m glad I was wrong about you, Josef,” he said in a flat tone.
“Well, what are you getting so snippy about? I would think you’d be happy to know I don’t kill a human every day!”
The younger vampire pressed his lips together.
“Oh, so you’re going to be like that now, huh? Give me the silent treatment because I kill a lot more mortals than you? —You know very well I treat humans with the utmost respect, almost as much as you—until, of course, they disrespect me. Minus the occasional ‘accident,’ I never kill humans senselessly—” he emphasized, then checked himself and muttered quickly, “—well, except twice on Sundays during a leap year…”
“—Um, excuse me?” Mick leaned forward with a perplexed little shake of his head.
The elder vampire shrugged and made a moue. “People were more superstitious back in the olden days, even vampires. —But naturally I made a point of killing anyone who tried to ward me off with garlic.”
“Oh, of course.”
They fell silent for several moments until Mick finally heaved a sigh. “—All right, Josef, who had the dubious honour of being the estimated number 100,000?”
Josef’s lips spread in a slow grin. “You sure you really want to know?” He wagged a finger at Mick, “You’re not going to like it!”
“Try me,” Mick said, folding his arms. “You’re right, I probably won’t, but I sense you’re just dying to tell me, so go ahead.”
“Well, if you insist—I’ll tell you,” Josef said evenly as he topped off his wine glass. He set the bottle back down gently and held his friend’s gaze as he sighed. “You see, a certain blond was snooping around just a little too much…”
Mick paled and went cold—or at least more than usual. “No…not…no, you wouldn’t…”
“Yup!” Josef chugged back the rest of his wine and set his glass down with a loud, satisfied smack of his lips. “—Ben Talbot is dead at last.”
“Wh—wait, what? Talbot?!” Mick exclaimed in relief, “But he—he’s a brunette!”
Josef shrugged. “Not anymore! I dyed his hair blond before I killed him, just so I could say ‘a certain blond’ and freak you out. Man alive! you should have seen the look on your face! Priceless!” he hooted, “—I hope Jerry caught that on camera.” He twisted in his seat and gave a big two thumbs-up to the security camera up in the corner of the ceiling. Then he turned back around to see his friend staring at him. “—What?”
“…You dyed a man’s hair before you murdered him, just to play a terrible practical joke on me?” Though Mick began slowly, his voice grew progressively louder.
The elder vampire tapped a finger thoughtfully on his lips. “You know, Talbot didn’t seem too impressed either, come to think of it. And here I thought blonds had more fun. Oh well,” he shrugged. “—More wine?” He held up the bottle.
“Huh. Imagine that,” Mick said lightly. “—And no, I’m good. Thanks.” He held his hand over the top of his glass.
Josef shrugged and poured some more wine for himself. “I tried to explain it to him, but you know how annoying it is when you have to tell people why your jokes are funny. Some people just have no taste,” he huffed and lifted the wine glass to his lips.
“Hmm!” Mick tilted his head in acknowledgement. Then he suddenly launched himself across the desk, grabbed his friend by the throat, and squeezed—hard.
“Mick—what—” Josef sputtered, flailing wildly and flinging his wine glass to the ground. “—Hey, my carpet! That’s gonna leave a stain! What’s the big idea?!”
“I’m going for a record too, Josef!!!” Mick grunted.
Author’s note: I have two things to say: (1) This story is exactly 1000 words, and (2) My first thoughts upon reading the “One Hundred Grand” part of the challenge were (1) Money, and (2) Josef. But then I figured everyone would be writing about money (and therefore possibly Josef), so I tried to think of another use for “one hundred grand”…
One Hundred Grand (or, Josef Probably Kills Every Day)
It was just after midnight when Mick St. John darkened the door to his best friend’s office.
“Ah, Mick!” Josef exclaimed with pleasure, “Just in time to join me in a little bubbly, my friend!” He waved him in and gestured to the empty armchair in front of his desk where he sat.
“Great,” Mick said as he strode across the room and settled into the chair. “What are we celebrating?”
“Well,” Josef said as he set two wine glasses in front of him on the desk and filled each halfway with '76 Penfolds Grand Hermitage, “if dead people were money, I think I finally made one hundred grand.”
Mick froze as he took the proffered glass. “I beg your pardon?”
“I think I just killed my 100,000th person.”
“Your one hundred thousandth person,” Mick repeated slowly, “…you think.”
“Yeah—well, I can’t be sure. I wasn’t officially keeping count, and my memory’s a little hazy, especially for the first hundred years or so—oh, and I blocked out the entire Victorian era, for obvious reasons. Oh, and I can’t remember most of the 60s and 70s—again, for obvious reasons.” He pursed his lips and tapped a finger lazily on some papers as he looked off to the side, seemingly lost in some sort of recollection. Then he shook himself out of it. “But anyway, according to my estimations, it should be about 100,000 now.”
Mick shook his head slowly. “You know, I once said to Beth that you probably killed every day, but I wasn’t thinking literally!”
“Well, no, of course not—but I’d hate to think you would be so stupid as to exaggerate to a reporter.”
Mick narrowed his eyes.
Josef ignored the look and frowned up at the ceiling in concentration. “Well, let’s do the math, shall we? Let’s see, I was born in 1599; it’s 2009 now—so I’m 410, but I didn’t start killing until I was turned…knock 26 years off of that…that’s 384 years of killing…divide 100,000 by 384, and…okay, so I killed an average of 260 people per 365-day year—that’s decidedly NOT every day!”
Mick threw his hands up in the air. “Great. Fine. I’m glad I was wrong about you, Josef,” he said in a flat tone.
“Well, what are you getting so snippy about? I would think you’d be happy to know I don’t kill a human every day!”
The younger vampire pressed his lips together.
“Oh, so you’re going to be like that now, huh? Give me the silent treatment because I kill a lot more mortals than you? —You know very well I treat humans with the utmost respect, almost as much as you—until, of course, they disrespect me. Minus the occasional ‘accident,’ I never kill humans senselessly—” he emphasized, then checked himself and muttered quickly, “—well, except twice on Sundays during a leap year…”
“—Um, excuse me?” Mick leaned forward with a perplexed little shake of his head.
The elder vampire shrugged and made a moue. “People were more superstitious back in the olden days, even vampires. —But naturally I made a point of killing anyone who tried to ward me off with garlic.”
“Oh, of course.”
They fell silent for several moments until Mick finally heaved a sigh. “—All right, Josef, who had the dubious honour of being the estimated number 100,000?”
Josef’s lips spread in a slow grin. “You sure you really want to know?” He wagged a finger at Mick, “You’re not going to like it!”
“Try me,” Mick said, folding his arms. “You’re right, I probably won’t, but I sense you’re just dying to tell me, so go ahead.”
“Well, if you insist—I’ll tell you,” Josef said evenly as he topped off his wine glass. He set the bottle back down gently and held his friend’s gaze as he sighed. “You see, a certain blond was snooping around just a little too much…”
Mick paled and went cold—or at least more than usual. “No…not…no, you wouldn’t…”
“Yup!” Josef chugged back the rest of his wine and set his glass down with a loud, satisfied smack of his lips. “—Ben Talbot is dead at last.”
“Wh—wait, what? Talbot?!” Mick exclaimed in relief, “But he—he’s a brunette!”
Josef shrugged. “Not anymore! I dyed his hair blond before I killed him, just so I could say ‘a certain blond’ and freak you out. Man alive! you should have seen the look on your face! Priceless!” he hooted, “—I hope Jerry caught that on camera.” He twisted in his seat and gave a big two thumbs-up to the security camera up in the corner of the ceiling. Then he turned back around to see his friend staring at him. “—What?”
“…You dyed a man’s hair before you murdered him, just to play a terrible practical joke on me?” Though Mick began slowly, his voice grew progressively louder.
The elder vampire tapped a finger thoughtfully on his lips. “You know, Talbot didn’t seem too impressed either, come to think of it. And here I thought blonds had more fun. Oh well,” he shrugged. “—More wine?” He held up the bottle.
“Huh. Imagine that,” Mick said lightly. “—And no, I’m good. Thanks.” He held his hand over the top of his glass.
Josef shrugged and poured some more wine for himself. “I tried to explain it to him, but you know how annoying it is when you have to tell people why your jokes are funny. Some people just have no taste,” he huffed and lifted the wine glass to his lips.
“Hmm!” Mick tilted his head in acknowledgement. Then he suddenly launched himself across the desk, grabbed his friend by the throat, and squeezed—hard.
“Mick—what—” Josef sputtered, flailing wildly and flinging his wine glass to the ground. “—Hey, my carpet! That’s gonna leave a stain! What’s the big idea?!”
“I’m going for a record too, Josef!!!” Mick grunted.
Josef deals with numbers a lot, and didn't always have a calculator, it's true. I'm sure he figured out a few tricks. I don't know if he pre-rehearsed the math part though, since he had no idea Mick thought he killed so frequently! Tee hee. I forgot about wars, though! They definitely contributed, I'm sure--so maybe Josef's not such a bad guy after all...
Josef had a lot of fun. I don't think Mick will actually kill him, though--he's only choking him, after all, and that won't kill a vampire. I had a Homer and Bart Simpson kind of thing in mind. The fact that the much younger Mick got the jump on Josef and stained his carpet in the process will be punishment enough for now.
or 
I think Mick was more upset over Josef making him briefly think that he'd killed Beth than he was over Talbot's death. I'm sure he felt a little bad for him though, since Josef had the bad taste to inform Talbot how his death would be used in a practical joke...