The Black Cat by Harrison Phillips

Author:Harrison Phillips [Phillips, Harrison]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2025-06-27T00:00:00+00:00

THURSDAY

07:55

I made a point of arriving to work early. Not too early, of course; I didn’t want anybody getting the wrong end of the stick, thinking I was about to become the model employee or something. But it couldn’t hurt to show just a little extra willingness, you know? The least I could do was be there on time, after all.

As I did every morning, I crossed the factory floor, hung my coat in my locker, and swapped my trainers for my company-issued safety boots.

“Feeling better?” came a voice from behind me. It was George.

“Yeah,” I confirmed, “I guess so.”

“What was actually wrong with you?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I just … I guess I haven’t been sleeping too well.”

George nodded his understanding. “Have you tried taking anything? Other than alcohol, I mean.”

I shook my head.

“Well,” said George, “maybe you should. You want me to speak to my buddy, see if he can’t hook you up with some Xanax or somethin’?”

I snorted a laugh. “Who’s your buddy? Pablo Escobar? And since when did you become a big-time drug lord?”

“Hey, I got bills to pay, you know?” George said, laughing now too.

Our joviality was cut short, however, by the appearance of John. “Oh,” he said, his words oozing with sarcasm, “I’m so glad you could join us. Follow me, please.”

“Where are we going?” I asked, somewhat confused.

“To my office. We need to have a little chat.”

“Really? Right now?”

“Now’s as good a time as any. And besides, there’s some paperwork you need to fill in.” With that, John turned and walked away.

I looked at George, who raised his eyebrows. I then followed John into his office.

The office itself was a simple steel box situated in the middle of the factory floor. It had windows on all sides so that John could keep an eye on his staff. There was an old hand-me-down desk positioned to one side, behind which John had already taken a seat. As I entered, John motioned for me to close the door and take the chair opposite.

“I trust you’re no longer sick?” he asked.

“No,” I said, “I’m fine. I just needed those couple of days.”

“That’s good to hear. Look, I’m not going to beat around the bush, here. I have to give you a formal warning.”

This caught me off guard. Was it even legal for him to be giving me a formal warning, given the circumstances surrounding my (albeit faux) illness? “You can’t do that,” I said, the hint of a question lingering at the end of my sentence. Could he do that? “I was sick. You can’t punish me for being ill. It’s against the law!”

John nodded his head slowly, knowingly. “I’m quite aware of the law, thank you very much. Where exactly were you yesterday, Alan?”

“I was still sick!”

“Oh, really? Then how come you were seen drinking in The Railway Inn on Tuesday night?”

Oh, shit, I thought. He knows. Somebody saw me in there and reported me to management. “Who told you that?” I asked, all but confessing my guilt.

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