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This week, the two sit on the board of a
major pharmaceutical manufacturer.
IT'S A DRINK!"
There is a meeting taking place.
The managing director loomed over the room of directors menacingly. A
furious glint in his eye bestowed upon his attendees the importance to which
he clearly attached to the extraordinary general meeting. “We need a name.
R&D has made it tasty. It’s made it sweet. But what we need is a name.” He
marched around the attendees of rectangular conference table like a
drill sergeant might inspect his worthless maggots.
“CAIN! What do you think?” Cain froze, unable to make eye contact with the
imposing frame of the MD.
“What…colour is it sir?” He said examining his tie. Moore interjected.
“Cain! Address your managing director properly
when he speaks to you! You know damn well what colour it is!”
“Sir.” Replied Cain.
Moore spoke directly to the managing director. “Sir, Cain has been
researching names and has come up with the best name suggestion yet. As we
all know, except Cain that is, the product is lemon flavoured and yellow.”
Cain’s eyes bulged. “AND IT’S A DRINK!”
he interrupted, banging the table hard with his fist.
“That’s enough!” Moore said. The MD looked infuriated. “So it’s lemon,”
Moore continued, “and it’s a drink. What do you do with it? Our research has
suggested you drink it. Or, to put it another way, you sip it.” The other
directors audibly gasped as enlightenment blew away the great clouds of
doubt and confusion they’d had.
“Lemon. Sip. Lem-sip. LEMSIP!” Moore concluded.
The MD’s look all at once changed from one of extreme fury to elation.
“Moore! My God you’ve done it! Lemsip. Marvellous!” The other directors
began to cheer Moore’s name. “Moore! Moore! Moore!”
Cain, on the other hand, felt violated by the credit going to Moore. He
swallowed hard. Moore, his superior, who as an army colonel had five years
previous saved him from the burning wreckage of an exploded car, bombed by
insurgents. Now it was payback time. Now
Moore was getting something back all right. It wasn’t enough though. Cain
rose from his chair and wiped some saliva from his mouth with the sleeve of
his suit jacket. He stood up in front of the managing director.
“Cain! What in the name of the holy whore are you doing?” he fumed, freshly
enraged by Cain’s bold manoeuvre. Cain stood in front of him, calm now. Then
he landed a right hook that sent the managing
director crashing backwards as he flew into a plant pot on the
back window behind and brought a piece of modern art down from the wall.
Cain strode up to the window. The punch drunk Cain finished the job by
dropkicking the managing director through the window and down.
“Cain you stupid bastard!” Moore said. “What have you done?” Just at that
moment company security poured into the conference room, bullets reining
down indiscriminately on them all as the smoke obscured everything to the
sight if not the sound. “Looks like this meeting is
cancelled” Moore said, using the luxury swivel chair he was
sitting on to beat a way past the other directors and to the smashed hole in
the window. Cain set off after him, hurling himself out and falling two
stories to the car park below.
“Looks like we’re out of a job, Cain” Moore said, dusting himself off.
“Sir” Cain replied.