Idle and Wild

Raymond J. Marshall. Chances are you’ve never seen a man with a suit and tie like that, each seam tailored to a precise finish by lavish artisans and each fold ironed to a smooth halt by prestigious butlers. Whether he’s stepping into the headquarters of a Fortune 500 corporation or a skyscraper in Hong Kong, you can be damn sure that every CEO and every one of their lackeys has already turned their head towards him. What a life! From the second he left his mother's womb he was set, practically following the rich-asshole checklist to a T. A sickly father with a multi-million dollar net worth, a son ready to inherit the entire estate, and puissant charisma. No blue-collar work, no rat race, just martinis on a cruise off the coast of Italy with beautiful women begging for your hand in marr-

“Hickock!”

John turned his head to the window, where his eyes met the rugged foreman’s fiery gaze.

“What is it now, boss?”

“You think I pay you to sit your ass in that truck all day? The guys’ve been waiting for a while now.”

“Yeah yeah, I’m on it.”

The boss doesn’t let anyone catch a break, even in the middle of the Florida summer heat. With a sigh, John pulled the glove box open and retrieved the yellow remote for the cement mixer before stepping out to assist the crew. Sweat dripped from their foreheads onto their crossed arms.

“While you was immensely busy up there, we set the mixer up for ya,” one said.

“Why don’t you take all fucking day while you’re at it,” said another.

“Shut the hell up Slover,” he groaned. With the push of a couple buttons, the hydraulics of the discharge chute locked and the cement poured down.

“You boys have fun back here,” he added as he walked back to the front seat.

“Oh ho ho,” the boss chuckled sarcastically, “we’re not dealing with this shit today. Hickock!”

“Yes dear?”

“Mosey on home. You’re fired.”

Behind him he heard the crew cheer in sync. His cheeks reddened. The truck and the road in front of him became a blur of colors. “Yeah yeah, laugh it up boys,” he said. “The jokes on you, you're stuck working for this asshole, the man rakes in more cash than you’ll make your whole life.”

“We’re about to be raking in more cash than you’ll ever make now that you’re fired,” Slover said. The others were roaring with laughter now. To hell with it. He walked away before their jokes made him swing a punch.

At home he lounged at his desk with a computer mouse in hand, endlessly scrolling. Construction assistant, construction assistant, general laborer, equipment operator, drilling assistant, general laborer. You could apply to each one with only two clicks, but why bother? They were all the same back-breaking job with a laughable wage slapped on top. Any posting that exceeded twenty an hour presented itself as “entry-level” before pulling the rug from under your feet and revealing the five-plus years of experience required. And where would any of these jobs get you anyway? There are no raises or promotions, no careers or pathways, no purpose or ingenuity. It’s just nine to five, nine to five, nine to five. Your whole life. You have to do something grand, something that takes you to the top. If you spend an entire lifetime in a race to pay rent for the month or buy groceries for the week, chances are you'll be at your deathbed with nothing but regret.

Yet those assholes at the top earned a free pass to no regret. They never had to do anything grand, because their existence is grand! All they worry about is their paycheck and their PR teams. Like the boss at Elegance Outdoor Services. His job consisted of being on everyone’s ass, sitting under the shade, and collecting the majority of each project’s earnings. And Marshall, hoowee! What has that guy ever done? Brought some woman home to his ten-thousand-square-foot mansion after partying with some Wall Street folks?

The phone at his desk began to vibrate. John dropped his feet from his desk to the floor and picked it up without checking the number.

“Who is it?”

“Is this John Hennessy Hickock?”

“Yea, why?”

“I’ve been asked to inform you that your father has passed away.”

A long pause as his eyes grew wide. “Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry to report such heartbreaking news. Your father passed away two days ago peacefully in his sleep. I’m calling to notify you that he left a section regarding you in his will… that is, he wished for you to inherit the entirety of his estate.”

His eyes remained wide, but lower on his face, a smirk had appeared.

Following the phone call, months of paperwork and meetings with the probate court occurred, which he felt was almost as back-breaking as operating the mixer truck. After the third month, the estate was transferred. All of it. His father’s home in upstate New York, the several apartments in the city, and the liquid assets. Justice finally hit, and it hit hard! And what better way to use the cash than to continue using the hammer of justice? It’s about time Marshall got what he deserved. John knows just how much the house in Jacksonville means to that man. After all, it’s where their family lived during his childhood, and where his beloved father died.

It’s still fresh in John’s mind, that April afternoon in class, when Marshall received the news on his phone and wept all over his desk. Sure, you think you’d be sympathetic, but not after the same person crying had slammed your head against the wall with his buddies at lunch two hours ago. Instead of sympathy, a smirk had crawled out onto John’s mouth while the whole class watched in awe as Raymond J. Marshall cried.

Now, if something happened to that house, with all those precious memories, imagine how he’d sob! And with just a small portion of his newfound wealth, John could make anything happen. A little hiring, a little lying, and a little… demolition.

Finding a crew to work with proved harder than it seemed in his head. Obviously, his nonexistent background regarding legal work makes feigning ownership of a home impossible. Surfing several less-than-ethical websites for trustworthy assholes proved difficult. Not only did the demolition contractor have to believe it, but the city did too, meaning these select individuals had to be beyond competent at their job. Otherwise, it was off to prison for all of them.

Luckily, it all went exactly as planned. Peter Bennings, Joseph Ruiz, and Jameson Hitt would be responsible for it all. They even went as far as explaining the whole process to John, but he could care less about the specifics. He was too busy fantasizing over the hit with a dastardly smirk, unable to contain his excitement as the day approached. And finally, it did.

The morning went by like a blur as he drove down to 325 Pinefield Dr, where the demolition team would meet. From what he had seen online, it was a beautiful home with a massive square footage. The windows were arched and detailed by a sleek black finish, curtains from the inside flaunting elegance, while the porch spanning the entire front wall was adorned with various modern furniture pieces. But by God was it even more beautiful in person. The grass glowed with health and symmetrical trees on either side of the driveway boasted intense care. Right from the start it was clear Marshall still personally nursed the place.

All the more reason to get started. John stepped out of his car—a brand new Mercedes-Benz GT paid in full with cash—and approached the porch. Its wooden flooring reacted soothingly to each step of his shoes with a deep and mellow sound, inviting him to continue towards the door. He planned to wait there until the team arrived, but couldn’t help but feel curious about the interior of the home. He reached out at the doorknob, but it turned before he could grab it. Instinctively, he leaped backward at the startling sight, and the door softly creaked open. A face appeared in the opening. Marshall.

“Johnny Hickock,” he said with a smile. “It’s been a while.”

“Wh-what are you doing here?” John’s heart sank into his stomach.

“What do you mean? I live here.”

“You know exactly what I mean, you’ve got a billion places in New York City and a billion things going on around the world, what the hell are you doing back in Jacksonville?”

He laughs. “Yeah, you caught me, but I caught you too. I know why you’re here.”

“No, you don’t, what are you talking about?”

“Listen Johnny, I know we were never close in high school, and that’s on me, but this isn’t it.”

“Of course it’s on you Marshall, you beat me all the damn time between classes and threw my lunch away everyday, while I studied my ass off despite it all to pass.”

“Yeah, and that’s why I’m glad you’re here today Johnny, I wanna apolo—”

“And now you get to jack off all day while money gets siphoned to you from all around the world!”

He stopped to catch his breath. “None of you rich guys ever worked to get where you are,” he sighed.

“And did you work to get where you are now, Johnny?” Marshall asks. “I saw your father’s death in the news. That Mercedes took years of work to earn?”

“Don’t turn this on me.”

“Look, I did get my father’s money. I started out at the top. There’s a lotta people just like me, and a lot of them are jackoffs that I hate. But I ain’t one of them, because frankly… being rich is boring.”

He crossed his arms and looked outside at the car. “That’s why I challenged myself. I made a lot of businesses, the ‘billion things going on around the world.’ They didn’t just make themselves.”

“You can’t challenge yourself once you’ve got cash. Look at me, before I got rich I got a lot done!”

“No you didn’t Johnny. I did a background check on you for the fun of it when your father was trending. You hopped between ten different jobs in the span of a year. Walmart, Albert’s Furniture, Elegance Outdoor Services… they all fired you for misconduct.”

John felt his heart palpitate. “Yeah, so? They’re all owned by rich assholes anyway.”

“See Johnny, that’s your problem, you think we’re all a bunch of idle idiots that spend our days drinking martinis on a cruise off the coast of Italy or something. But who's the idle idiot that harasses his bosses and expects to be compensated for it? Who's the wild animal that wanted to demolish someone's home?”

He sighed and looked inside the house at something. “I was hoping this would go differently, but I guess not,” he said.

Before John could respond, an army of men lurched past the door and tackled him.

“Who are these people?” John yelled as he kicked against the men.

“They’re guards. I’m rich, remember?”