Page 5 - The Gluckman Occasional Number Eleven

“I’ve swept the place. It’s clean. Nothing is safe from the
conehead mantis.”
“I believe it!” Roy was the eminence grise who told him when he
had carte blanche to punish his bêtes noires. The enemies list was
long and growing, but the mills of Masta’ Don’s inquisition ground
slowly and exceedingly fine. Sealake would always be invulnerable.
“Listen, Roy: Nozama El-goog, the pasha of Oleagia, is going to
meet me here tomorrow for a photo-op, a light meal and a heavy
deal. He thinks he can outsmart me because his daddy gave him a
kingdom. Well, I inherited nothing but a carpetbag full of burglary
tools, so I had to steal mine! I am the smartest ever! But I need you
to do a bit of skullduggery, dig up the dirt in his turban, and let me
know how I can use it to help him see that I am offering him the best
deal he will ever get!”
“Yes, boss. Anything else?”
“What about the confidential investigation? Have you tracked
down the traitor?”
Conehead wagged his triangular head in sorrowful negation.
“You mean the one who changes our anthem’s lyrics to ‘the Don’s
oily blight’ during the daily patriotic drills? We are using the latest
computer technology to analyze voices in that chorus, narrowing it
down to one of the surveyors. It won’t be long.”
“Good. When you find the perp, I’ll issue a retroactive executive
order declaring mispronunciation a treasonous capital offence. That
will show the others! I guess that’s it for today.”
The insect’s pitiless blank gaze confronted the mountain of
menace before him. Masta’ Don felt a frisson of apprehension, then
remembered he could crush his henchman with one tiny tap of his
foot. Wouldn’t want a mess on the sole of his slipper, though, he
reflected.
The mantis departed as he had entered, through a hole in the side
of the Divinely Wonderful Desk. Now it was time for the cabinet of
curiosities meeting Masta’ Don convened weekly in his office.
Three smaller versions of him trooped in. Two nephews and a
second cousin, to be precise. They joined Masta’ Don around a
conference table away from the window.
“All right, boys,” honked their leader stentoriously. “Let’s get this
over with. It’s getting close to lunch and Matriarch just hired a top
chef away from the Miami Zoo. Mmm-mm! Well, here’s the thing:
we need a new slogan for the plantation. You know, something
inspirational for all the loyal underpaid workers happy to have a job