Post by Joshua Samson, ESQ on Sept 13, 2018 18:30:13 GMT -8
Puffing heavily on a Cuban cigar with his cellphone to his ear, the always expensive suited Joshua Samson, Esquire was standing in the underground parking lot of the Iconic Sports Management building.
“I don’t care how much it’s going to cost, make it happen, Karen. What’s the point of having a P.R. firm on the payroll if you’re not fixing our public relations?!”
Samson exhales allowing a deep gray stream of smoke to bellow into the air above his head.
“Karen, I shouldn’t have to explain that IPW is in its infant stage and if that kind of news gets it’ll literally destroy any momentum I have going. Make it go away and make it go away now.”
Removing the phone from the side of his face, the managing-member of Iconic Media LLC ends the call with a push of a button. He slides the phone into the inside of his suit coat pocket before being startled by a voice from behind him.
“Well look at you, Joshua…”
Spooked and nearly dropping the cigar from his mouth, Samson quickly turns to see a cheesy grinning investigative “journalist” Mickey “Mouse” Greer.
“Mouse.”
“That’s all the greeting I get from an old friend? I think I might be kinda wounded.”
Samson rolls his eyes.
“What are you doing here, Mouse? This is my place of business.”
“Yeah, you know I know that, Joshua.”
“Doesn’t explain what you’re doing here.”
“I...uh...I have a friend...yeah… a lady friend...that works in the building. I was checking to see if she wanted to hang out after she got off.”
Greer smiles widely at his ability to fabricate a lie.
“Stop lying, Mouse. No woman in their right mind would even let you smell the goodness. Whatever you’re snooping around for, you’re not going to find it.”
Samson blows smoke into the shorter man’s face that sends Greer into a fit of coughs.
“Okay…cough cough...so there’s no lady….cough...friend. I was looking for some kinda scoop and what better place to find one then at the headquarters of the boss of IPW, right? I mean, you didn’t hire me to do boring backstage interviews. That’s what Butterscotch is for.”
Samson can do nothing but silently agree.
“Exactly.”
“Well like I already said, you’re not going to find any dirt around here, Mouse. Beat it.”
“Let me be the judge of that...”
Unseen by Samson, Greer produces a small tape recorder into the palm of his hand.
“I’m hearing that this guy Jason Dave has a major hard-on for you, Joshua. What’s the deal there? He find out you banged his wife?”
“WHAT?!”
Samson stares at Greer incredulously.
“So you slipping Mrs. Dave the Samson salami or nah?”
“Mouse, you’re a goddamn idiot. The only woman I’m giving the good loving to is my wife, Astrid.”
“Hmm...then what is this I hear about you and Savannah?”
A dark visage seems to come over Samson’s face. He pops the cigar into his mouth and takes a long pull before addressing the reporter.
“You haven’t heard anything about Savannah and me because there is nothing to hear.”
The reporter better known as Mouse snickers.
“Oh so plausible denial. I get it, playa, playa. Damn, if you’re ever looking to pass off your pimp knowledge, I’ll be more than happy to sit at the feet of the master.”
“Get the hell out of my face, rodent, before I call security to forceable escort you off the premises.”
“Okay, okay. Just give me something, Joshua? Anything? Please?”
Samson peers down at the pleading Greer. Removing the cigar from his mouth and releasing the smoke, Samson slightly smiles.
“Now why would I do your job for you, Mouse? Like you said, I hired you for a reason. If you want the dirt that just means you have to go get your hands dirty. Now if you’ll excuse me, my ride is here.”
Purposely blowing the cigar smoke in Greer’s face once again, Samson turns to the approaching black Escalade. Greer, coughing, bats away the gray smoke while talking to himself.
”Oh…cough cough I’m gonna…cough get the dirt alright, Joshua. You just wait and see. Cough cough cough”
Fade.
Mickey “Mouse” Greer
“I don’t care how much it’s going to cost, make it happen, Karen. What’s the point of having a P.R. firm on the payroll if you’re not fixing our public relations?!”
Samson exhales allowing a deep gray stream of smoke to bellow into the air above his head.
“Karen, I shouldn’t have to explain that IPW is in its infant stage and if that kind of news gets it’ll literally destroy any momentum I have going. Make it go away and make it go away now.”
Removing the phone from the side of his face, the managing-member of Iconic Media LLC ends the call with a push of a button. He slides the phone into the inside of his suit coat pocket before being startled by a voice from behind him.
“Well look at you, Joshua…”
Spooked and nearly dropping the cigar from his mouth, Samson quickly turns to see a cheesy grinning investigative “journalist” Mickey “Mouse” Greer.
“Mouse.”
“That’s all the greeting I get from an old friend? I think I might be kinda wounded.”
Samson rolls his eyes.
“What are you doing here, Mouse? This is my place of business.”
“Yeah, you know I know that, Joshua.”
“Doesn’t explain what you’re doing here.”
“I...uh...I have a friend...yeah… a lady friend...that works in the building. I was checking to see if she wanted to hang out after she got off.”
Greer smiles widely at his ability to fabricate a lie.
“Stop lying, Mouse. No woman in their right mind would even let you smell the goodness. Whatever you’re snooping around for, you’re not going to find it.”
Samson blows smoke into the shorter man’s face that sends Greer into a fit of coughs.
“Okay…cough cough...so there’s no lady….cough...friend. I was looking for some kinda scoop and what better place to find one then at the headquarters of the boss of IPW, right? I mean, you didn’t hire me to do boring backstage interviews. That’s what Butterscotch is for.”
Samson can do nothing but silently agree.
“Exactly.”
“Well like I already said, you’re not going to find any dirt around here, Mouse. Beat it.”
“Let me be the judge of that...”
Unseen by Samson, Greer produces a small tape recorder into the palm of his hand.
“I’m hearing that this guy Jason Dave has a major hard-on for you, Joshua. What’s the deal there? He find out you banged his wife?”
“WHAT?!”
Samson stares at Greer incredulously.
“So you slipping Mrs. Dave the Samson salami or nah?”
“Mouse, you’re a goddamn idiot. The only woman I’m giving the good loving to is my wife, Astrid.”
“Hmm...then what is this I hear about you and Savannah?”
A dark visage seems to come over Samson’s face. He pops the cigar into his mouth and takes a long pull before addressing the reporter.
“You haven’t heard anything about Savannah and me because there is nothing to hear.”
The reporter better known as Mouse snickers.
“Oh so plausible denial. I get it, playa, playa. Damn, if you’re ever looking to pass off your pimp knowledge, I’ll be more than happy to sit at the feet of the master.”
“Get the hell out of my face, rodent, before I call security to forceable escort you off the premises.”
“Okay, okay. Just give me something, Joshua? Anything? Please?”
Samson peers down at the pleading Greer. Removing the cigar from his mouth and releasing the smoke, Samson slightly smiles.
“Now why would I do your job for you, Mouse? Like you said, I hired you for a reason. If you want the dirt that just means you have to go get your hands dirty. Now if you’ll excuse me, my ride is here.”
Purposely blowing the cigar smoke in Greer’s face once again, Samson turns to the approaching black Escalade. Greer, coughing, bats away the gray smoke while talking to himself.
”Oh…cough cough I’m gonna…cough get the dirt alright, Joshua. You just wait and see. Cough cough cough”
Fade.
Mickey “Mouse” Greer
