But first I'm going to thank all the people who have thus far told me they like what they've seen (you're awesome), and excoriate all the people who haven't (I hate you). Seriously though, leave comments so I have something to read other than that hit counter I'm always compulsively checking.
And tell your friends. Or enemies. I don't care. I just need more free advertising.
With Josiah Malum’s threat looming constantly over his head, Mischa Petrovitch was extremely careful. He set to work on the task to which he’d been assigned, assiduously checking and double-checking every punctilio – even the slightest error could mean failure.
“This letter to the editor is perfect! Mr. Malum will be very pleased,” said Mischa to no one in particular as he hit the “save” key and printed out his letter.
Yes, Mischa’s assignment was a relatively simple one, at least for now. He had been ordered to send an indignant letter to the editor of Newsweek.
The contents of this letter – which, incidentally, give away the gist of Josiah’s plan, and subsequently the contrivances of the Department of Evil – I won’t reveal, but Josiah had continuously emphasized the importance of perfection, and Mischa was not one to question his superiors.
The letter finished printing and Mischa read it aloud, making sure it was indeed flawless. Once satisfied he placed it into an envelope, addressed it and strutted out of the Radio Shack where he’d been typing. He was much more confident without Josiah around.
“So sir, are you interested in buying that computer?” asked a helpful clerk as Mischa stood up.
“No. Sucker!” shouted Mischa, running for the exit.
The clerk (who hated being insulted) took out his handy handgun and fired a few shots in Mischa’s general direction; but never having used a gun before, he was a terrible marksman, and Mischa managed to escape, letter in hand.
“That was close. Now I understand what Mr. Malum meant when he told me of the high risk of failure!” thought Mischa as he ran through the mall toward a mailbox, of whose location he had only the faintest inkling.
A few security guards noticed his running and tried to stop him, but nothing could stop Mischa now, except maybe a wall. Inevitably, he soon ran into one, giving himself a painful lump on the forehead.
Now moving much more slowly, Mischa limped out of the mall and through the parking lot. At the other end was a sidewalk, and along this sidewalk was, most conveniently, a mailbox.
He slipped the letter inside, exhaled deeply, and sat down on the curb, exhausted but satisfied. A black Cadillac Escalade suddenly drove up beside him and stopped abruptly. Mischa looked up as the window rolled down.
It was Josiah.
“Mischa!” he yelled, quite unnecessarily.
Mischa, already completely aware of Josiah’s presence, nevertheless gave a startled jump, landing on his back. Groaning with renewed pain and now shaking with fear, he stood up, looking apprehensively at his cruel boss.
“W-what is it, sir?” he asked.
“Did you send the letter yet, Mischa?” asked Josiah, smoking another cigarette.
“Yes sir, I d-did, sir! I t-typed it up in R-radio Shack, and I mailed it just now!” said Mischa proudly. “It w-wasn’t easy though. The shopkeeper, he tried to sh-shoot me!”
Josiah stared at Mischa, hardly daring to believe what he’d just heard. A wave of indescribable fury began to boil up inside of him, but when he next spoke, it was with his usual coolness – Josiah Malum masked his emotions very well.
“You typed the letter on a public computer? You typed the letter in the middle of a crowded mall?” demanded Josiah.
“W-well, you see, sir, I had to s-sell my home computer to b-buy food after you c-c-cut my pay again, so I figured –”
“MISCHA!” yelled Josiah, finally abandoning his usual air of calmness, “That letter was the first and arguably most important part of a brilliantly evil and convoluted scheme! Typing it in public is quite possibly the stupidest thing you could have done! At least tell me you had the sense not to save it?”
“Umm…I don’t…think I did, sir,” lied Mischa, now shaking so severely it was a wonder he managed to stay on his feet.
Josiah shook his head, “For your sake, Mischa, I hope you didn’t. Because if you did, you’re going to get the spanking of a lifetime!”
Mischa Petrovitch fainted.