Pool_2

"Shut that fucking thing off! Who's fucking with my fucking money. Who fucked my fucking .." losing his connection to spittle, "fuck!" Fred loved this. Dinfall was still muttering "alafuckingbaster" as Fred continued "Sir, the trophies were delivered from Professional Trophies Unlimited in England. We didn't order them. It was, I thought, your secretary," who also happened to be Dinfall's mistress, "who signed... we're pretty sure. Where's that form? Mighta been tossed... Oh yeah, Grunt had it. Grunt to the guard room." Fred spoke into the microphone, again leaving it on, up full volume. "Elizabeth? My Elizabeth?" "Yes sir. Her name was on the lading slip. We figured you ordered the trophies. Very nice of you." "She's for FUCKING! I FUCK HER! SHE DOESN’T FUCK ME!" pacing madly, as another call from city hall requested that the PA system be muted. "Anybody delivers goods here, you call ME. Don't open shit unless you call ME!" The kids were rolling on the deck. Who needed television? Every single bag of diatomaceous earth, like great bags of talcum powder minus the perfume, used in huge quantities to coat the tall vertical parallel canvas sheets in the water filters, every single bag, before being opened turned into a phone call, "Tell Mr. Dinfall, we have a large package here, needs opening." It took about twenty such trips from city hall to get the 'CALL ME' order remanded. Fred prodded, "Some of the bags of filter powder have prizes inside, sir. You sure we shouldn't call you?" "What?" "I got a decoder ring." Fred was very secure in his job and really didn't give a toot,