MBA from Hell

Richard Turpin ran his damp finger around the inside of his collar and swallowed noisily. He could feel the sweat on his brow and the water droplets threading their way between the follicles of his sparsely covered crown. His temples throbbed and salt was beginning to give what hair he still had clinging to the sides of his square head, a feeling of stiffness. It was as if he'd unloaded a whole canister of ozone destroying fixer in one go.

Answering the ad in the paper had seemed like a good idea at the time. It was strange that none of his work mates had seen it.

He watched the man opposite him much as a rat might watch a snake. "So," he managed "what you are saying is, if I'm correct, something along these lines." He took a deep breath. "There are different contracts that you can offer me?"
The man waiting smiled. His voice when he spoke was warm and mellifluous. A sort of orangey, cointreauy sort of, after dinner liqueur.
"Richard, it's quite simple. Think of it as an, a la carte menu. Imagine if you will the following scenario. You and your dear lady wife are in a restaurant"' He paused. "Oh, you are married?"
Turpin nodded, miserably.

"Good. Good. Anyway, back to the restaurant. The menu contains all sorts of mouth-watering fare. For example, a guinea fowl perhaps or a little partridge still with the hard, unforgiving pellets that propelled it from this life nestled within its breast. Delightful cuts of baby lamb with the juice of its oh so young and happy life trapped, awaiting your satisfaction, caught by the final stroke of the butcher's knife."

Turpin gulped again. He was feeling a little giddy and when he was giddy he felt sick. His companion stopped  upon noticing his distress but only for a millisecond. "You decide the lamb is the best option but your wife Rich, is rather keen on fish instead. What do you do?" He waited as if dealing with an imbecile which rather irritated Turpin despite his awe.
"Ummm, make our choices?"

The man jumped from the arm of the big leather armchair and exultantly punched the air and clapped his hands making Richard jump.
"Exactly Richie. Exactly." He paced in front of him. Back and forth, back and forth until he suddenly swooped and placed hand on each arm of Turpin's chair. Bent low and close to his sweating face he stared deeply into his eyes. "So whaddya say Dickie?"

Turpin, unwillingly, found his gaze drawn to him. He met the other's eyes and was amazed to see them actively changing colour as he watched. Blue then green and copper until finally, with a tint of crimson in the iris they changed again into very, very pale blue. Under the full-on stare another feeling began to rise inside him. It was magnificent. It was a rush and it thrilled him. It displaced the fear and doubt and elevated his consciousness such as he had never experienced before. He had no control over it and he leapt to his feet causing the other to leap backwards laughing as he did so.
"Yes, dammit. Yes. Yes. Bloody yes!"

The other laughed and clapped his hands with glee as he spread out the papers on the desk.
"Ok Dixie boy,…here we are. Have a look at what old Luci ….fuh!" He emphasised the last syllable like a charicature of an old down south boy.
"Your very own pal Beelzeee…bub has gotcha."

Turpin did indeed look and his breath was taken away. From the full on bags of gold and untold riches menu there was not much to think about or choice to make. Fabulous wealth is after all, just fabulous wealth. The all the women in the world desiring you seemed on the surface of it, quite nice, but he could see that could bring trouble along with it. He'd never yet met a woman who didn't end up causing him trouble and the thought of thousands more Gwynneths in his life was at best, worrying. His eyes scanned the indices until he noticed on one of the sheets that had a Special Rules Apply clause at the bottom. His finger pointed at the writing.
"What does that mean exactly?"

The Devil slapped his own head and frowned with mock disappointment.
"Damn it all Dixie boy. You're too sharp for me, I swear."

Turpin allowed himself a smile. "Didn't expect me to catch you out did you?"

"That I didn't. That I didn't" He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "That is just a sort of …er, handicapping system Rich. Shall I explain to you?"
He nodded.

"When you sign on the dotted line so to speak, the contract's sealed. However, not all contracts are equal, if you get me. To paraphrase one of my former protégés, some contracts are more equal than others." As if that explained everything and the matter was now closed he spun around theatrically and rested his arm heavily and without invitation, around Turpin's shoulders.
"Can ya dig it, Ricardo mio?" He squeezed him tightly as he said it like some horrible touchy, feely uncle.
Turpin now frowned himself. "Some are easier to get out …" He caught himself too late. "I mean, er….more reasonable in their demands?"

"Why that's about the size of it, Ricky. You want the whole nine yards. You know, riches, women etc etc." He looked at his polished nails as he spoke. "You aren't going to have much  leeway on time."

Turpin waited.

The Devil stroked the sheet then swiftly stabbed it with his finger.
"This very one that you found, The Special Rules Apply one, this very one for sure, Rixie Dixie, is the one I recommend for you."
   
Turpin took a deep breath. He wasn't sure of the protocol to follow, but this perpetual changing of his name was driving him a bit mad.

"Would you mind calling me by my Christian name please, and not all these shortened versions?" He then squinted at the fine print unaware that the Devil's eyes had just, ever so briefly flashed red.

"This says that in return for signing over my soul to you in perpetuity and accepting eternal damnation etc, etc you will give me …." His eyes searched hungrily until they found the key words. "A business degree and an MBA?"
The Devil waited.
Turpin struggled to formulate his thoughts. Finally, and with scant regard for the power of his tempter he let rip. "A bloody certificate to hang on the wall? What the hell would I want one of those for? You're trying to rip me off!"
   
The Devil held out his hands for silence and his right eye twitched violently, as if he was trying not to lose his temper. His voice kept an even timbre, silky, warm and oh so deadly as he, in a reasonable manner began.
"Do you imagine for one moment that I couldn't rip you off as you so eloquently put it without any hint of it penetrating your dull brain? Do you think that I, with my power so terrible and all encompassing, could not just crush you like a fly? Indeed, actually rip a bit off you rather than rip you off and leave you screaming curses at your mother for bearing you at all?"

Shivers of terror played a mazurka with Turpin's spine. He froze with his eyes wide open staring at the Devil whose sturdy, Savile Row, suited legs had grown by at least five feet. The Devil now towered over him with a snarl on his face and his arms raised high.

"Look, please don't hurt me. I mean, I didn't mean to ….er, your  er, deadliness. I'm sorry, sorry, sorry. I beg you to forgive me. I …." His voice died away into a whimper. A second passed and then another.

The Devil's face resumed its calm composure once again and he shrank into a less intimidating size.
"Right. Stop grovelling. It doesn't impress me."
He bent down and helped Turpin up from where he was cowering.
"Now, let me explain this clearly because I fear you are not the brightest button in the box." Once he was sure he had his full attention he pointed at the paper.

"Just a certificate, you said with what seems to me like ingratitude. And, I must admit, it did" he glared at Turpin. "irritate me a little. It is not just a business qualification and an MBA. These are from major business schools. You pick them. Name your originator. It might be the LSE, Harvard, MIT or Cambridge. How about one of my favourites…Yale? What about good old Oxford? Why not matriculate from two great centres of excellence?" He changed his voice to faux posh and strutted about with his nose in the air.
"Yah, got the old MBA at Oxford don't you know and the Phd from Yale." Door openers everyone Dicky Dum Dum. Just think what that means for you. With those bits of paper you can become a Management Consultant. Your future is made. Not only will you have the actual qualifications and the academic track record in situ, you'll know what they know and be able to speak the speak with confidence. And, you'll be in great company."

"How do you mean?"

"You don't think this MBA was a man-made thing do you?" He chortled and rubbed his hands together. "My word on it. I set it up originally as a cover for a couple of bright sparks in the U.S. You know the yanks, always looking for another angle; yet another fairground trick to take into mainstream business." He leaned forward as might a conspirator. "Man, it's really caught on. You mortals are great at spotting an opportunity. You will be able to swan into any company and completely talk absolute bollocks for hours on end and receive money and accolades in return. Think about it and savour it. Believe me, I know from personal experience." He stopped talking, lost in his own thoughts briefly, then continued. "Blokes like you who've sweated at the coal-face all your working life and got only part way up the ladder before you got stuck, will be green with envy. Until now you haven't had time for smart-aleck phrases or buzz-words. No, that's been only for those in the know; the selected ones; the anointed ones." He glanced angrily upwards as he said this."All you've had to do is try and keep your head above water while clearing up all the mess they leave behind. Toeing the bloody line and listening to the crap they dole out. Am I right or am I right?"
The Devil used his fingers in the air as punctuation and used a playground voice to amplify his contempt for the words. "Blue Sky Thinking; Point of Arrival; Accountability."

Turpin appreciated the length to which the Devil was going to demonstrate his emotional intelligence and empathy with his own situation. He glumly nodded his head in agreement. Every calumny and insult he'd suffered was brought back with a vengeance. There was always some interfering know-all, sharp-suited, corporate wide-boy lurking behind new initiatives. New initiatives that caused him and the other unfortunates to buckle and sweat under more regulations- more bloody red tape and scrutiny. More dancing to another's tune on the whim of some chair bound
number-cruncher.
"Bastards." He spat.

The Devil sprayed spittle from his mouth and shook his fist skywards.
"Exactly! And don't even get me started about Compliance!" How dare anyone tell me how to conduct my affairs! I'm the fuckin' Prince of Darkness!" He continued in the same vein. "Fuckin' rubber shoes, poking and prying where they're not wanted!"

Turpin's eyebrow cocked quizzically.

"Oh, yes. Even me. I've had my tribulations. Wet behind the ears, goody two-shoes. swotty little prick. Couldn't live without a rulebook to obey. No bloody imagination or flair. Wouldn't know bloody verve or originality if it bit him." He raised his eyes again. "Lickin' arse and tugging his forelock for the boss." He snapped his fingers in the air as he said this and continued to stare at the ceiling, almost as if the tirade had been directed at someone in particular."

Turpin watched him, silently nodding in agreement. The Devil suddenly stopped, as if realising where he was and what he was meant to be doing. He growled to himself a little longer, again glancing up before he regained his old self. He continued.

"For once, the so-called bosses and movers and shakers will have to consider what you say, as being woven throughout with threads of truth and wisdom, no matter how cretinous or simple they really are. Remember, you've got a piece of paper that says you have taken exams. He emphasised the word exams with his fingers in the air. People will look up to you. Chairmen of major companies will swallow any old nonsense that you spout and even better than that, they'll pay you for it!" He shuffled the papers around some more before picking up a sheaf. He waived it in the air before bringing it down and theatrically selecting a page. He winked at the now grinning Turpin before he began to read out loud.
"Here we are. Some ready made phrases and their true meaning. This is the sort of thing the MBA will equip you to understand and use to your own advantage. It means that you will finally know the truth once you sign that contract. Your business career will take off. You won't have to kow-tow to intellectual minnows. Money, fame and all that goes along with it is coming your way. Here's a couple I know you'll love." He continued. "Achievable?" He waited until Turpin shrugged his bemusement. "It's shorthand for "Hopelessly optimistic." He winked then spoke again. "How about this one? "Assistant Manager?" He paused then finished off. "Brown nose" or, let's see. His eyes roved the pages. "Audit trail" He stopped and looked at Turpin. "Know what one of those is?" Turpin waited for the answer. "A way to trap you!" He shook his head in amusement. It tickled his funny bone, especially as he knew about audits, what with having to account for all those souls in anguish. "D'you see where this is going Dicko?" He smiled encouragement. He held up the paper to show Turpin as he highlighted another one. "I love this one. "Arse - See Heads Up."'
    The Devil wiped the tears from his eyes and suddenly became quite business-like. "Richard, the beauty of this contract is that it provides access to all the fame and riches the others do, but it gives you some satisfaction that you've worked hard for your success. It builds you into a more rounded character; a more appreciative character. People will say nothing about johnny come lateleys but lots about self made men when your name is mentioned. You will walk tall in society and," he became almost solemn. "let's be frank Richie, people like a winner."
   
Turpin grinned again. It looked like he might yet buy Necker Island from Branson. But, his reverie was brought short by the thought of Gwynneth. She hated the heat. She hated the sea and she hated flying. As if he could read Turpin's mind (which of course he could) the Devil spoke again.
"Of course there's nothing more attractive than a winner, other than" again he paused "a winner trying to recover from the sad loss of his devoted wife." His face remained inscrutable for a millisecond before he and Turpin dissolved into fits of laughter. But, when they had managed to compose themselves sufficiently, Turpin turned solemnly to the Devil.
"I appreciate the thought, but I'd really rather just get a divorce or separate or something like that. I don't want anyone hurt."
The Devil nodded his agreement but looked terribly disappointed. "Ok."
Turpin continued. "How long does the contract last for?"
The Devil smiled again and put his arm around Turpin.
"Ever the sharp-eyed businessman eh Dicko? Good question and I really think you're going to love the answer."

Turpin waited, eyes bright with excitement.
"The beauty of these lower level deals is that there is no limit. Because you do most of the work yourself, the time you are allowed is infinite. There is no, absolutely no limit on this contract. It's open-ended. A no-brainer don't you think? You could still be going a hundred years from now." He winked as Turpin held out his wrist for the Devil to score the blade across. He only yelped a little as the knife cut deeply but he did have to clutch the table hard as he watched his blood fill the small cup.
      "Except that…" the Devil broke in upon Turpin's concentration "…in the remotest of remote possibilities that you were tempted into a little" he smirked at his own clever choice of word "devilment of your own."

Turpin listened with a sickly look on his face. "What exactly do you mean?"

"Oh, nothing too serious it's just…" he tried to look bashful as though it was all a bit of a nuisance having to discuss it. He bobbed his head repeatedly as he spoke the last bit of his threat. "Well, if you were to try and renege on our deal, then that would nullify the open-endedness of our arrangement and I would have to foreclose."

"Renege?"

"Back out. Cheat. Silliness such as"' he leant forward "trying to burn your copy of the contract or getting into bed with the" he did the inverted commas thing with his fingers in the air '"Big One" upstairs." Turpin's lack of response seemed to satisfy him. "Great, let's get on with it then Rico."

    He proffered the quill but then stopped himself. He tut-tutted briefly and held his hand up. "I almost forgot. I'm required to tell you 'bout all this contracting out of your soul stuff as being governed by the Supreme Being's Counsel's office, yaddy yaddy yah and all that corporate guff. The Terms and Conditions are on the reverse should you care to look at them." He faked a yawn then smiled and raised his eyebrows skyward in confirmation of their shared hatred of the rulebook.

Turpin, once again found himself held in the unblinking gaze of the Devil. Wordlessly he took the quill pen from the Him and soaked it in his dark red blood before signing upon the bottom of the sheet.  When he had finished his signature lightning flashed inside the room and wind rushed, scattering all the papers into the air. Turpin ducked and squealed with alarm. The Devil waved his arms and all became still.
"Sorry about that. Didn't mean to alarm you. Sort of tradition to do that and quite frankly, I do enjoy a bit of the theatricals don't you?"

Turpin smiled weakly and held the tissue on his wound to staunch the blood. The devil pressed one finger lightly on the wound and the blood flow stopped. The pain disappeared instantly, bringing a smile back to Turpin's face. He rolled down his sleeve and put on his jacket. The Devil too smiled while tidying away forms.
"Got your paperwork Tricky Dicky?"

Turpin's bravado had returned.
"Yessiree Beelzebubba, me old mate." He stopped as if assessing how dangerous it might have been to abbreviate the Dark One's name. The Devil smiled indulgently. "That's the way, Ricky. Stay loose."
Turpin scanned the contract a final time. "How will I know when it is coming to an end?" he looked a little nervous.
The Devil's face composed itself into a mask of earnest consideration.
"You'll know when you see me again. Until then, the world's your oyster. So, enjoy…" He indicated that it was time for Turpin to leave by sweeping his arm towards the door, which opened by itself. Turpin nodded his goodbye and left.

    He stepped outside into the hotel lobby where a scattering of nervous looking people sat, clutching coats and bags and other stuff. A lady in spectacles handed out numbered cards to each diffident newcomer as they approached her desk.  All carried copies of the rag The Clarion. On the internal TV monitor the Devil watched Turpin jauntily step out of the lobby and into the brightly sunlit street. He formed his hand into a pistol shape, took aim and made a gentle whooshing sound. His eyes glowed red.
"'Next!" he called.

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Dick Turpin MSc MBA (Cantab, Harvard) slipped the taxi driver a crisp twenty for the eight quid drive to Canary Wharf.
"Keep the change, mate" he said as he stepped from the cab onto the sun baked flagstones. Stretching dozens of stories high, the building in front of him exuded power, money and class. He straightened his striped tie and lightly skipped up the steps to the foyer hidden behind the green tinted glass of the atrium.

The girl at the desk smiled brightly at him. "Can I help you sir?"

"No, it's alright darling." He slipped past giving her a wink. "I can find it thanks. Perhaps you could ring ahead? Dick Turpin's the name. They'll know me. Floor 48, Trent Shipping Corporation."  Before she could close her mouth and place her hands indignantly on her hips he was gone and riding the lift upwards. He examined himself in the reflections of the polished door. Some difference to five years ago he had to admit. He turned this way then that before straightening his tie and teasing a couple of strands of his new weave into place over his smooth, botoxed forehead. He grinned to himself and sang the opening to his favourite song. "Money, ….it's a gas."

    The receptionist was just replacing the phone when he pushed through the mahogany, panelled door.
"Mr Turpin?"

"To see Ms. Hobbs. I'm a little early but that may suit her."

She smiled. "Can I get you a coffee?"

He smiled his best smile and winked at her. "Tea please, but no sugar thanks. I'm sweet enough already."

The receptionist forced a smile and exited through a side door. Before he could help himself to a magazine he turned to see a young woman approaching through the anteroom. She smiled broadly as he watched her open-mouthed.

She was beautiful with a capital B. Slim, tall and leggy, her heavy, straight hair glistened and moved in time with the deliberate sway of her hips.  The suit she wore was made from the finest, grey cashmere and her neck supported a lavish array of diamonds. She held her hand out.
"Mr Turpin? I'm Stella Hobbs. How are you?" He tried to take her cool, slim, soft hand while mumbling a response, but she had already gone and was beckoning him into her large, airy office. She indicated a chair opposite her desk for him into which he sat unbidden. To his chagrin, his normal eloquence and sing froid seemed to have deserted him and the scar on his wrist began bloody itching again. Would it never heal completely?
"Are you alright, Mr Turpin?"

He found his voice at last "Fine thank you….please call me Dick." The itching on his wrist grew.
"And, you Dick, will call me Stella."

"Ms. Hobbs, …er Stella. Thanks very much for agreeing to see me at short notice. I believe that I have some very intriguing things to say about Trent Shipping. Things that you as Vice President of Operations will, I'm sure, be very interested in."

He was surprised when she held her hand up, and even more surprised to find himself obeying her. This was not at all how things were meant to happen.

"Dick, please don't rush things."

"I'm sorry?"

"Oh, I know you're keen to demonstrate how much money you can save us here at Trent, but please do me the courtesy of getting to know us a little better. We're not just a company run by faceless automata here. We like to do things in a civilised manner."

"Oh, right," He rubbed at his wrist and tried to regain the initiative. "I see you have an MBA." He nodded towards the certificate on the wall.

"Ah, here's the tea. Shall I be mum?" She poured the tea and settled back into her chair waiting while he stirred his cup. "Yes, from MIT. D'you know Massachusetts?"

He shook his head. "No, did mine at Cambridge and Harvard."
"Really? How interesting! Is it long since you completed your studies?"

"Six or so years. You?"

"Me too! Now that is a coincidence, Dick. The pair of us were in America at the same time. I wonder if there are any other similarities?" Her laughter was as beautiful as the sound of wind chimes.

In an unusually humble response he responded. "I shouldn't think so. I'm just a consultant, you're the VP of Trent Shipping. Bit of a difference there."

She placed her hand lightly on his forearm. "Come now, Dick. I know a little about you. Your company is no slouch itself. You wouldn't have got through the door if I hadn't been impressed with your record. Built up the turnover of Turpin Associates from £0, 5 years ago to £100 Million now? Don't hide your light under a bushel, Dick. We're not as different as you might imagine."

He began to feel at home. Flattery was always a good way to lighten his mood. "Well, I admit it's been a bit of a roller-coaster ride over recent years, but, I do believe I've got something to offer my customers that is more than just adequate. I believe it's exceptional."

"Which is exactly why I said yes to our meeting Dick."

"Oh good." He said. Although, he still had that niggling feeling that it might not actually turn out to be all that good after all.

"And now that I've met you I believe that that decision is going to prove to be absolutely inspired."

"In which area of operations is it that you have an issue?"

She moved so quickly it frightened him and he tried to pull back but was too slow. She held his wrist tightly and pushed his sleeve up to reveal the welt. As she saw the full scar she gasped and looked into his frightened eyes. "I knew it." She hissed.

    He retrieved his wrist from her and sat rubbing it, waiting for her next move. He didn't have to wait long. She took off her jacket to reveal a short white camisole. Her toned and brown arms were a delight to examine until his eyes reached the livid, red, puckered skin of her left wrist. "Not so different eh Dick?" She laughed but without mirth.

"How did you know?" He whispered and cast his eyes about as if expecting the Devil to appear that very instant.

Stella pursed her lips ruefully. "I've been searching for you." She shrugged and moved around to the window. "Well, not you exactly, but someone I could reasonably expect to be in much the same position as me."

Turpin continued to rub his wrist. "What pointed you my way?"
"Success of course. That turnover figure was way too good for anyone real." She laughed again but cut it short and rubbed her wrist as she spoke. "'The rest was a give away…Cambridge and Harvard? Really, he tried that one on me as well but I thought I'd just go for the one. To tell you the truth, I've been looking to change things since the day after I signed."

"Why? Look at all this that you've achieved."

"I was working as an account manager when I picked up The Clarion that day. I was pissed off and mad at my boss for having missed all the signs of my raw talent and choosing to promote someone with a bloody degree."

Turpin nodded in agreement with the sentiment.

She continued. "So, I took myself down to the Man and I signed. I was madder than hell at the time"

"Pretty much the same as me."

"But, I started thinking about it later. It left a very bad taste in my mouth. I'm better than this. I can achieve things without handing my soul over to him. I've sold myself short. I really do have talent."

Turpin said nothing as he tried to imagine himself being that confident. Finally, he gave up and paid attention to her as she continued. "Do you really want to burn in Hell forever? Doesn't it all seem just a little expensive now?"

He had to agree. She was articulating his own feelings quite well and it made him very uneasy. Furtively he watched the door as if expecting it to burst open in a crash of thunder. "What do you want from  me?"

She sat back down at the desk and stared at him long and hard. "You have to ask yourself a question Dick. And, bear in mind you are six years into the contract so you know all it has to offer."

He nodded for her to continue.

"Do you really feel like you've struck a good deal? A good bargain? Getting your money's worth?"

He thought about it, before, with a miserable face he admitted to having had the same feeling.  He sighed. "I've known since a year or more ago but I've just been going along with it hoping for a bright idea. Each day that passes brings me closer to the end. Even if that end is in 50 years or more and it's beginning to weigh me down. I've not been sleeping too well either. "Tears sprang into his eyes but he fought against them. Stella proffered a tissue from the pretty box on her desk.

"How'd you like to break the contract?"
His blood ran cold. The merest thought of it was enough to make him sweat. Again he glanced at the door. He whispered, "shh! Do you want to get us taken right now? It's clear you have a death wish but don't think for a moment that I want to join you"

She was not to be deterred. "D'you keep your copy with you at all times like you were instructed?"

Involuntarily his hand moved to his breast. Stella smiled.

"Why?" He croaked.

"A priest I know, a scholar with contacts in Rome has been helping me with what he thinks is research for a book. He's been able to confirm the way out of the pact. However, it needs two of us. This is how it works." Turpin waited without enthusiasm but listened. "I'll burn your copy and you burn mine. It's the only way out for us. Burning your own contract will not work but, if you burn mine and I reciprocate, the contract will be nullified" She stood up as she finished the sentence. Her face held a desperate look but it was, at the same time, excited and vibrant. "Well? What do you say? Are you in? All it takes is the confirmation spoken out loud as you apply the flame to the paper. Say yes, Dick and we'll do it right now, right here. Say yes!"

Indecision swamped him. He twisted his hands together and chewed on his lip as he wrestled with the awful choice. Say no and he knew how it was going to end, possibly even as soon as tomorrow, but say yes and he could be free.  But, then again and on the other hand he might be taken right now. Decisions, decisions, decisions. "Renege" the Devil had said "and I foreclose." But, he really didn't want to burn in hell for all eternity and this success thing was just becoming a bore. There were no challenges anymore or anyone to blame. He'd quite enjoyed blaming other people, now that he thought about it. It was comforting. "Yes" he whispered.

Stella cocked her head. "Sorry?"

"Yes" this time a little louder
.
"Say it again Dick, louder though."

"Yes, yes, yes!" He bellowed as he looked deeply into her eyes.

    At that very instant and upon the third "yes" Stella started to chuckle. The chuckle turned into a laugh and then into a hideous howl of inhuman mirth. Her eyes changed colour with the sound.  Blue changed to green and copper until finally, with a tint of crimson in the iris they changed again into very, very pale blue. She stood with her legs apart and hands on her hips insolently regarding him "Rico mio." She purred and stroked his face with her nails. "Que pasa, hombre?"
    She tut-tutted and shook her head "Silly, silly boy. Don't you just wish you could die with embarrassment?" She held up a finger to indicate to the trembling, shocked Turpin that he should remain silent. She turned to a cabinet against the wall and checked her hair in the reflection. "Such a pity. All that time left to run on the contract and you've gone and wasted it. Doh!" She slapped her head. "You seemed to have been doing so well out of it. Why'd you go and do it, Tricky Dicky?"

"You made me say it. You tricked me." He howled.

In a very reasonable tone she replied. "You know, I kind of thought it would turn out to be my fault. It's always my fault. Always will be I suppose. Never really had anything but bad press my whole career." She seemed lost in with her own thoughts briefly and then, brightly she added, "I think I'm going to give you your very own little devilette to keep you company. I reserve that special treat for those that I think have treated me…" she searched for the correct word "shabbily." Her laugh echoed from the walls as if the room had now become a sepulchre. "This is the bit I love." She raised her arms above Turpin's head. He closed his eyes and sobbed to himself and cursed the day he'd been spat, squealing and naked from his mother's loins and into this unfair world.

    Suddenly, a peal of thunder crashed around the walls. Turpin shrieked. The Devil stopped as if frozen. A dazzling, bright, white light had appeared in the corner of the room. A shape stood within it, watching the events. Turpin noticed that the Devil's face was twitching and he looked extremely annoyed indeed. His irises now burned brightly in his head.

"What do you want Gaby?" He tried to keep reasonableness in his voice but it was clear he was struggling to do so.

The figure stepped closer and Turpin could just make out a man with a white shirt, and dark jacket. He thought it was a man but his features were indistinct, so bright was the light around him. The man spoke. His voice was posh, and oozed good breeding and education. 'Archangel Gabriel, actually, as you are well aware."

The Devil mocked his accent and muttered in a childish mimicry "Servant of the Lord and Head of Compliance, yeah. I know."

Gabriel ignored him and finished his sentence. "But, if you want me to start calling you Lucy in response, you carry on. Now, what do you think you're doing?"

The Devil adopted a look of innocent, uncomprehending willingness to help. He held his hands out palms up. "No comprendo."

The newcomer was having none of it. "You comprendo pretty well. And why d'you always try and speak like you're from some Latino ghetto? What's with this Spanish thing and the name changing? D'you think it makes you attractive? Or more interesting?"

The Devil looked down at Stella's shoes, which he had to admit, were rather fetching. He might expand the feminine experiment thing into his next public appearance. Coming once more to the matter in hand he raised his eyes, insolently staring and muttered sullenly and lowly in street patois but just loud enough to be heard.  "Chu an assho' man."' He held his hands across his chest in a belligerent gangsta pose.

The Archangel shook his head and sucked his teeth. "Yeah. Whatever." Then he turned to Turpin and looked him up and down slowly. It was clear he was unimpressed by what he could see. "And what have you got to say for yourself?"

His eyes settled upon the ashen-faced Turpin, who had frozen in mid backwards-shuffle towards the closed door. He licked his lips. "Don't know." He looked at his feet then back up at the bright, bright light shining upon him. "Sorry?" he ventured, although he knew just how ridiculous that must have sounded. He was right.

"That's it?"

Turpin's eyes shifted to the side but he dared not look at the Devil so he kept them focused on the carpet as he thought. "Really, very, very sorry, your"
He couldn't think of a word that he could use, pertinent or otherwise, such was his awe of the two unspeakably frightening beings in the room with him. He shuffled his feet, keeping his head down while he tried not to be sick.

Gabriel's voice broke through his confusion. "And?"

Turpin finally found his tongue and went for honesty, there being nothing else to do.

"I am a very stupid man." He waited to see if this might have been enough and was a little disappointed with the silence that greeted him. He tried again. "I am a worthless, wretched, mortal, who has succumbed to greed and avarice and " he looked up through his fringe trying to gauge the likelihood of this being acceptable. Gabriel continued to stare at him. Over the Archangel's shoulder, he could feel the still, threatening pulse of evil. "And" he struggled, "I have learned a valuable lesson today." he continued, nodding slowly and elaborately in emphasis for his audience. No one spoke, further increasing the pressure on him to say something more. Surprisingly, he found himself drawn back to one of those interminably boring sales training sessions "Let them sweat. Make them speak first." He tried manfully, but his heart wasn't really in it so he lamely finished off with what he hoped might add a suitable degree of gravitas to his confession "Forsooth."

Even Gabriel, was for just an instant, thrown off his stride by this. The best he could muster in response was a long pause while his eyes bored into Turpin's. Finally, he regained his composure. "You mortals" he grimaced. How many times must we have the same discussions?" He paced the floor while Turpin shivered. "Why can't you just accept that you have to work hard for things. There is no easy fix. No easy way to achieve things. Apply yourself to study. Apply all your ingenuity in pursuit of excellence and not instant gratification."

As he spoke, the Devil moved his mouth silently but in time with the lecture until Gabriel caught him doing it. The Devil coughed and pulled a face before looking away.

"To do otherwise will invite tragedy." Gabriel continued. "And, you may not be so lucky next time. It's only because He" he raised his eyes upwards. "He, felt that this one" he glared at the Devil "could not be allowed to thumb his nose at the rules yet again, that I was sent to release you from the contract."

The Devil broke his pose emphasising the words with swinging arms like he was a gangsta rapper. "No way, man. He mine. He broke dah deal. He cheated me, man."

Turpin stared open-mouthed and uncomprehending.

Gabriel bent towards him and spoke as if to a particularly, dense dog. "You are free to go, you wretched little man."

Turpin waited for the punchline, which came fast on the heels of this fantastic but totally unbelievable news and was emphasised by Gabriel's wagging finger. "But, the company is dissolved and all the profits have been awarded to charity!"

The door almost came off its hinges as Turpin's creased and sweating form fled as fast as his legs could carry him. "OK, ok, ok" his voice echoed faintly off the smooth, marble walls.

Gabriel turned back to the fuming Devil. Patiently, he reached into his jacket pocket. "How very unpleasant and stupid you are." He stared with ill-concealed contempt at him. "And please, stop being so petulant. You've only yourself to blame. The contract was never completed properly in the first place. If you'd followed your guidelines in the first place," He trailed off to allow the next words more impact. "you would not be in this position. How many times have you been told about disclosure?" He smacked the document with each word for emphasis. "Disclosure, disclosure, disclosure. The sinner has to be appraised of the full consequences of signing on the dotted line. How long eternity is exactly, what sort of purgatory etc, etc. Yaddy, yaddy yah in no way compensates for these omissions." He paused. "You screwed up. You let Mr Turpin escape. No-one else did it for you."

The Devil scowled. "But,"

Gabriel tutted and sighed. "No ifs, buts or maybe. You've been told of the regulatory requirements many times but refused to listen. Perhaps if you'd actually attended the lessons that were arranged for you at business school, you would not now be performing so poorly at work. And don't forget, we had this discussion a millennium ago and you were made aware that your personnel file would be marked accordingly. So now, every time you go out to see a client I'm afraid you will be having a mentor shadowing you. Someone properly qualified. Someone who will make sure things are done properly and in line with corporate governance."

"What?" The Devil roared. "Who is it?"

The Archangel smirked and primped his hair a little. "Me."