Mr. Varney - Part I (fiction)

They would have to proceed with great care. If the meeting was to go according to plan, they would all have to act and look their very best. Which is why, if you were to knock on Mr. Varney's door at 5:13 in the morning, you would find him not grumpy with sleep, but nervously ironing his left pant leg.
For the third time.

It wasn't that he was bad at ironing; in this business, you learned pretty quick how to look crisp. Wasn't that the pants were some cheap off-brand, either. No, he'd paid a good $400 on this pair alone and he'd specified the cleaners should wash them with care. He frequented the same cleaners' as Mr. Cameron and while he hadn't had the chance to bring it up so far, he was sure that should the opportunity ever arise, it would make for a pretty funny coincidence. Might give Mr. Cameron a laugh and they were all in favor of that, weren't they?

Things were not... going great, to put it mildly. It was party his father's heart attack in June. Mr. Cameron's father, I mean. Mr. Varney's dad was in the ground a good five years' since, bless him. Never any trouble, that one. But now, Mr. Cameron's father, he'd been feeling pretty rough for weeks before the "main event" which had caused Mr. Cameron a great deal of stress.
It was precisely this sort of volatility that kept Mr. Varney awake at night. As Mr. Cameron's right hand man, it was his job to anticipate and prevent such irritants. But not even he had been able to stop the old man's ticker from going. Stressful few weeks, those were, yet not the worst. I mean, the old man was alright now and with a bit of luck, he'd be around long enough for them to make a hefty profit.
Now, the day old Mr. Cameron died, that would be something to see and Mr. Varney could only hope he was far away from here when that happened.

_src

Still, it wasn't the old man's heart attack that was messing things up for Mr. Cameron and the company. It was that damn woman. An artist. Pah. Mr. Varney still didn't understand what had been wrong with the model Cameron had been seeing before. Nice enough kid. Great legs. And she never gave him trouble over anything. Working late? Alrighty. Can't make the holiday in Mallorca? It was alright, the girl went anyway without him. Two weeks basking in the sun while they were stuck here, fighting to prevent Cameron from having a hissy-fit.

But that was over now and ever since he'd met this painter chick, Mr. Cameron hadn't had a decent night's sleep. Needless to say, the company's stock was plummeting. Mr. Varney was seriously considering having the girl shot. He weighed the pros and cons of it in his mind as he ironed.

5.29.

Still a good two hours to go until the ante-meeting. He'd have these pants looking sharp by then. He couldn't very well waltz into the ante looking like he'd been sleeping rough for the past week, could he? He was there to soothe Cameron, not upset him and Cameron liked sharp-dressers.
The man hummed gently as he held the beige pants up to the fading moonlight.

And I don't know where I'm going to...

He forgot how the rest went, but figured he didn't need more anyway. Right about now, a trip to the middle of the dessert with ZZ Top didn't sound quite so crazy. And besides, he could rack up some serious fun, burn through his funds. You know, live it up a little.

But no, he couldn't kill the girl. Not because of some sympathy he might've felt for her, but who could tell how Cameron really felt about her? He would clearly suffer, should some unfortunate accident befall her. But would that be a temporary low, one they could hopefully recover from in a couple weeks' time?

Could he afford to? What if things didn't go as he hoped and Cameron took it badly? There was no telling what he could do and should the old man kick the bucket as well, they were positively screwed. On the other hand, this girl wouldn't stop giving him lip and making his life a nightmare. It wouldn't do to have someone else put Cameron on a leash, would it?

What to do?

Perhaps if he talked to the girl, paid her off? Trickier than killing her - Cameron might still be heartbroken, mope around for months. And if things went south and the boss heard of Varney's little stunt, there was no telling what he would do.

Such were the thoughts that plagued Mr. Varney in the early hours of a Thursday morning. He ate in silence at the immense marble counter his ex-wife had picked out - ghastly looking thing - and then took one of his interminable showers. He pulled his pants on with great care and studied himself in the mirror. The crease was still noticeable. At least to him. But it would have to do.

to be continued.

Thanks for reading,