“So Mr Stein, thanks for turning up for your interview today.”

 “Yeah, I’m sorry about yesterday… I tried but…”

 “But?”

 “That was kinda the end of the sentence there.”

 “I seeee.”

 Mr Jenkins steepled his fingers and fixed Miles Stein with a withering stare.

 “We don’t normally give second chances at this firm Mr Stein; we pride ourselves on our professionalism. It’s only because of your father that you’re here today.”

 Miles smiled.

 “Yes, you killed him.”

 “Yes, yes I did” mumbled Mr Jenkins, adjusting his tie and shuffling some papers.

 “Yes you did, didn’t you” chuckled Miles.

 “Listen, it was an accident… I think I’d be more than repaying my debt if I gave you this job.”

 “So… I’ve got the job then?” grinned Miles.

 “No, this is what this interview’s about” replied Jenkins gruffly.

 “But you killed him…”

 “I’m aware of that Mr Stein… I’m well aware of that, which is why I’m willing to not question these references of yours, despite the fact all of the people on this list are dead.”

 “Did you kill them too?” asked Miles irritably.

 “Mr Stein, a brief search of county records reveals all these people to be recently deceased.”

 “That’s not answering my question” winked Miles.

 Jenkins’ hands shook slightly.

 “So did you kill them before or did the list provide you with new victims?” asked Miles.

 “Mr Stein, I’m not going to get into a discussion about whether or not I killed these people. That’s not what today’s about.”

 “No, today’s about you killing my father.”

 “Yes, as I said, I’m aware of that… Now, I think we should move on” growled Jenkins and flung the papers over his shoulder.

 Miles lit a cigarette during the awkward moments as the paper noisily fluttered to the floor.

 “There’s no smoking in here Mr Stein.”

 “Are you worried these things will kill me?”

 “Cigarettes kill everyone Mr Stein, even those who only have the misfortune of being nearby.”

 “My father smoked… it didn’t kill him.”

 “No, it didn’t.”

 “You did.”

 “Can we please move on?” Jenkins sighed.

 “Fine” smiled Miles and puffed a smoke ring into Jenkins’ left eye.

 “I think we should perhaps take a moment and then start again” suggested Jenkins as his asthma began to flare.

 “Fine with me fatherkiller.”

 Mr Jenkins returned to the table smelling faintly of a steroidal inhaler and fruit tea. He’d brought some new papers that he’d found sitting on the photocopier. He theorised that they would serve to reassert his position of power in the face of an awkward situation. As he sat down he slammed the mass of cafeteria menus down hard on the table and took pleasure in the resounding thud.

 “Let’s discuss your previous work: How did you find your time in the coffee shop before the unfortunate demise of Miss Reilly?”

 “I found it alright. Working helped me to forget about my father’s death for a little while.”

 Miles took pleasure in watching Jenkins flinch.

 “I didn’t really like the customers though. There was one guy… Jesus… used to complain all the time…”

 Miles rolled his eyes.

 “And what did he complain about?” asked Jenkins.

 “Stuff…”

 “Stuff?” Jenkins asked with eyebrow raised.

 “You know… stuff…” Miles muttered.

 “And how would you define “stuff”?”

 Jenkins thought he might have found his way out. His guilt could only grease the wheels, not get the couch off the line. He’d found his couch… all Miles had to do was stay on track. Jenkins mouth twitched into a half-smile as he savoured his way with words.

 “Oh, he didn’t like me working so late.”

 Jenkins felt a chill.

 “Why would someone complain about that?”

 “He missed us spending time together.”

 “He was… your… “lover”?” clutched Jenkins, mentally scrolling through the company’s unwritten terms and conditions.

 “No, my father… you know… the one you killed?”

 “Oh… that father…”

 Jenkins slumped. A sense of doom began to squeeze his bladder.

 “Were you ever fired Mr Stein?”

 “Nope… I got all these “employee of the month” things too” smiled Miles and dumped a small heap of assorted trophies on the desk.

 Jenkins decided to clutch at straws.

 “But you could have bought those at the trophy store… they prove nothing…”

 “Here’s photos of me receiving them from my former managers.”

 “You could have faked these… It’s not like I can ask them because they’re…”

 Jenkins trailed off.

 “Yeeeeaaahhh… seems to be happening a lot these days…” Miles said, winking at Jenkins. “It’s crazy… seems like one day you’re talking to them and the next you’re attending your father’s funeral.”

 “We have these general questions we have to ask… like a little test. It’s new…”

 Jenkins complimented himself on a masterful recovery.

 “I’m just going to have a cigarette first.”

 “Bu…”

 “You killed my…”

 Miles made a soliciting gesture.

 “I’m just going to open the window” said Jenkins when he’d returned from the corridor.

 “Knock yourself out.”

 Miles flicked at the little balls of ash littering the oak table. He took pleasure in watching each explode into a little grey cloud that was then carried towards Jenkins’ chair by the draught.

 “Let us begin” said Jenkins, forcing neutrality into his voice as he dusted his seat before sitting down.

 Jenkins had been forced to loosen his necktie while fighting for breath in the corridor and had forgotten to redo the knot.

 Miles felt an inner disgust at the sight of a, so-called, professional in such a state of disarray. Jenkins was meant to be setting an example to him. It seemed there was nothing he wouldn’t do to disappoint Miles.

 “Question one:” began Jenkins, “If you were any object in this world; what would you be?”

 “I think I’d be a letter-opener, Dennis.”

 Dennis Jenkins flinched for two reasons. Not only did he consider it poor-taste to mention letter-openers in the face of recent events, but also incredibly poor form to address an interviewer by their first name.

 “A letter-opener” Jenkins muttered as he filled in the little box on the form.

 “And, as I shook hands with you when I came in, I guess I’d be a letter-opener with your fingerprints on it…” Miles chuckled.

 There was a silence. During this silence the fingers of Jenkins’ left hand, which had previously been irritably scratching his head, clenched sharply.

 “Question two?” asked Miles as, in fascination, he watched the four angry red dents on Jenkins’ forehead slowly swell.

 “Question two: What would you say was your most embarrassing moment?”

 “I’d say it was getting my sister pregnant.”

 Jenkins neck convulsed in a series of spastic twitches.

 “Entirely accidental… seems I forgot to drain the bath.”

 Jenkins decided he wanted as little to do with the past as possible.

 “Question three: What is your big ambition in life?”

 “TO AVENGE MY FATHER’S DEATH” screamed Miles and leapt from his seat.

 “I...”

 Jenkins knew his time had come.

 Miles broke out into laughter and sat down again.

 “Just kidding” he guffawed, “you should’ve seen your face… it was a picture. No, I’d like to fly a hot air balloon over a rainforest. I can only imagine how beautiful those places are.”

 Jenkins readjusted himself in his seat, praying it was only sweat.

 “Question four: This is a hypothetical question…”

 “A what?”

 Jenkins sighed.

 “You know, it’s a “what would you do if” kind of thing…”

 “Why didn’t you just say that?”

 “Because that’s not really the exact definition, it’s more complex.”

 “How so?”

 “It’s just a way of asking how you’d react to a situation that might well come up… the word isn’t really important.”
 “Suit yourself, although you really should stop these mind-games, I’m not here to arrest you.”

 Jenkins twitched.

 “What would you do if a woman co-worker was wearing a top that you considered offensively revealing?” asked Jenkins quickly.

 “Are we talking too much titty or too much fat an’ fur? If it’s the first one… hell, you’re asking the wrong guy…” winked Miles. “I’ll assume you mean the second… Well, I’d probably start wedging pencils in the folds… even if she don’t get the message at least she’d be serving a purpose… equal opportunities and that.”

 Jenkins felt the familiar urge returning.

 “Perhaps I chose poorly… How about this: What would you do if you found a fellow employee had been stealing from the office?”

 “We talking cash or staples?”

 “Stealing the company’s office supplies is just an indirect way of stealing the company’s money Mr Stein” frowned Jenkins.

 “Did you get in trouble for the letter opener then? Or did you get it back in the end? You know, once they’d managed to get it out of there?”

 Jenkins just filled in the next few boxes himself.

 “Question twelve is a word association question. You must tell me the first word that comes into your head.”

 “Sure, why not.”

 “Work?”

 “Smoking.”

 Jenkins wrote something down.

 “Pride?”

 “Fall.”

 Jenkins continued scribbling.

 “Run?”

 “Flee.”

 “Let’s try to avoid synonyms shall we?” grumbled Jenkins.

 “Eh?”

 “Trousers?”

 “Mice.”

 “Bread?”

 “Paraguay.”

 “Ellipse?”

 “Turnip.”

 “Are these really the first things that come into your head Mr Stein?”

 “No…” replied Miles.

 “This only works if you pick the very first thing to come into your head. Let’s start again.”

 “Window?”

 “Murderer.”

 Jenkins knew where this was going.

 “Butterfly?”

 “Murderer.”

 “Pineapple?”

 “Murderer.”

 “Innocent?”

 “Puppies.”

 “We’ll end there” suggested Jenkins hurriedly, feeling he’d redeemed himself.

 “Question thirty seven: You have a duck, a fox, and a bag of grain on one side of a river. You have to get them across the river but your boat will only hold one of them at a time. If you leave the duck alone with the fox, or the grain alone with the duck, one of them will eat the other…”

 “The grain will eat the duck? What’s to stop it eating the fox too?”

 “No, the duck will eat the grain Mr Stein.”

 “Won’t it be a bit late for the fox though?”

 “No, you see, the fox won’t eat the grain if it’s left with it.”

 “I know, you said the grain will eat the fox… Is it genetically modified or something?”

 “What I meant was that the fox and the grain are safe together… neither of them will eat the other…”

 “Is that because the grain’s full because it’s already eaten the duck?”

 “No, you see, the grain is just that, grain, it doesn’t eat anything, people eat the grain.”

 “You never mentioned the people before, I thought it was just the fox and the duck and the grain?”

 “I could have said that more clearly. There’s no people.”

 “Then what’s the farmer? Is the grain the farmer? Is that why he’ll eat the fox?”

 “Are you taking the piss Mr Stein?”

 “Yeah… but only to avoid embarrassing you by asking the big question.”

 “Which is?”

 “What the fuck’s the farmer got a fox for?”

 The buzz of Jenkins’ nebuliser made conversation difficult for the next two cigarettes.

 “Question fifty: Why do you think you’d make a good employee?”

 Miles pondered this one.

 “The way I see it, I’ll be able to spend one more day here than most other people.”

 “Which day is that?”

 “Well, look at it this way: a lot of other people are going to get a day off for their father’s funeral.”

 “Okay, next question. The last one…”

 “Knock yourself out.”

 “Question fifty-one: Which religion would you say you follow?”

 “Do I have to answer that… privacy etc?”

 “No… but, look at it this way, did you really answer any of the previous questions?”

 “Not truthfully.”

 “So let’s just give me something to put in the hole here?” Jenkins said gesturing at the form.

 “How about a letter opener?”

 “I’ll just put protestant in… that’s always something of a grey area.”

 There was some final furious scribbling.

 “And that’s the end of the questions” smiled Jenkins nervously.

 “So, do I get the job?” asked Miles. “I should probably get it as you killed my father and all…”

 “You see, the thing is… I still can’t really give you the job” said Mr Jenkins awkwardly.

 “Why not?” frowned Miles.

 “You’re a talking fox and I… well, I’m a bag of genetically modified grain… You see my problem here?” asked Mr Jenkins as he picked up a letter opener and began stabbing.

 “Your problem is that you’re not a well man?” asked Miles.

 “That’s the one” replied Mr Jenkins. 

 The farmer returned with the duck and realised he’d fucked up again.

back to duck.