Robin Hood Ch. 2

Robin Hood

Chapter 2

Sherwood

Marian stood at the base of Sherwood Security, a massive glass edifice in the heart of Manhattan. She wasn’t sure if it was genuine awe or jet lag but she couldn’t help being a little impressed at the hundred story dick John King built. Probably wanted to outdo Trump tower, She thought.

She let out a sigh, her breath hanging in the chilly, early morning air. Putting her head down she marched into the lobby through the large revolving doors. A checkered black and white marble floor led to an absolutely ridiculous fountain filled with little marble statues of cherubs or whatever the hell they’re called. Looking around she could see half a dozen crew cuts in cheap suits all sitting on black leather couches practicing their interview answers.

On her three o'clock sat the receptionist, a mousy little brunette, probably a summer intern. With a nervous sigh she reserved herself to this and marched over to the long black desk.

“Excuse me. I have an appointment with Mr. Nottingham.”

“Okay, uhm name - name please?” She stumbled nervously.

“Maid, Marian.” Don't fucking say it. She prayed.

“ Oooooh, just like from Robin Hood!”

Uuuuugh. Letting out a sigh, she replied, “Yeees.”

Realizing she had irritated Mari the receptionists demeanor quickly went back to being frightened,

“Uhm - just take that elevator. Thirty uh - thirty third floor.”

“Thank you.” Mari replied, clenching her jaw and pursing her lips.

She tucked the folder holding her file under her arm and continued marching to the elevator. Feeling like a sellout she tried to shake it off as nerves.

Pressing the silver thirty three she began her slow ascent into the hell that is job interviews. She was sure this Nottingham would be some pale pudgy businessman, probably loved Excel spreadsheets and hard candy.

Straightening her jacket and fussing with her cuffs she fidgeted all the way up.

Thirty one. Thirty two. Thirty three. The doors opened smoothly after the familiar bing. A towering figure in a tailored black suit stood outside of them. She couldn't even see their head until exiting the elevator.

A pointed black beard jutted out from a square jaw. Dark brown eyes glowered down at her from under a heavy furrowed brow.

“Lieutenant,” the towering figure growled. “Come with me.”

“Uh yessir.” She replied instinctually, quickly falling into line behind the glaring sasquatch.

Under his suit jacket she could see the shape of a sidearm holster. Not surprising, every guy in the lobby had a piece. You couldn't even apply without an open and concealed carry permit. But unlike all the crewcuts downstairs this one wasn't some carbon fiber semi automatic number. The lines were too organic, the shape was all wrong.

Son of a bitch is carrying a six shooter? And a pretty large caliber by the looks of it. At least a .357.

While she was noticing all of this, they'd been walking down a long hall of fine marble flooring and gaudy gold light fixtures. Really seemed like this guy was trying to out-douche the Trump family.

Every five or so feet of wall hung a God awful portrait of a different old white guy, looking more and more spoiled and weak, until they finally came to the double doors. On the wall next to them was a portrait twice the size of the rest, but the guy in it wasn't even half the age of the others. A chinless face without even any peach fuzz, a crooked smile and overpriced haircut. Under the painting and on the door read the same inscription.

John King, CEO, CFO, Genius.

Oh sweet Jesus… she thought.

"Through here." Growled her escort as he opened the door for her.

"Thank you." She replied instinctually.

Stepping forward she entered an office that was nearly the size of the building's lobby. Floor to ceiling windows gave a spectacular view of the city skyline, and that was about the only redeeming quality the room had. Everywhere else the douche had been turned up to eleven. Tacky gold fixtures and white marble made it look like the lobby to Caesar's Palace in Las Vegas.

Black leather couches that would no doubt sparkle under a blacklight formed semi circles in each corner of the room.

By the door itself, set into the wall was the largest liquor cabinet she had ever seen.

A massive desk that had to be made of some kind of endangered species of tree from the Amazon or some shit sitting smack in the middle of this eyesore. On either side of it were small, obviously fake, palm ficus trees. The desk itself was covered with stupid nicknacks from all over the world or at least it was trying to look like.

Sitting at the massive desk was the one who had invited her. The famous John King in all his underwhelming and douchey glory. He was comically small compared to the desk and his giant assistant.

"Thank you Nottingham," The CEO said, steepling his fingers as if he needed to come off any creepier.

"Please, Lieutenant, sit." He continued, gesturing to the chair on the opposite side of the desk. "Tell me, what do you know about Sherwood?"

Oh god this interview question, really? She wondered before putting on her darkest smile and replying, "From what I understand Sherwood Security offers high end personal protection for VIP's and their assets."

"Ah! I see someone read the quote on the company website," he retorted, voice heavy with sarcasm. "Yes those are the more public side of our operations but aside from security we are also the world's best contractors."

Contractors, that word sent a shiver up her spine. It was short for Private Military Contractors, a fancy way of saying mercenaries. All the way out in the high mountains in places like Shah-I-Kot she thankfully hadn't run into many contractors. Among her more meatheaded troops they held a reputation as amazingly effective operators but anyone with half a brainstem knew that war without the red tape had a tendency to devolve into little more than murder. Running with mercs didn't sit well with her but the money grubbing goblin in the back of her head wouldn't let her turn up the potential payday just yet.

"We operate very heavily in the hindu kush these days but our operations are quite widespread. I'm told you have an intimate familiarity with that area yes?" Flipping through a file on his desk he continued, reading aloud, "Kabul, Shah-I-Kot, Korengal, you must know those mountains like the back of your hand by now lieutenant." A sleazy smile cracked his face in half in an attempt to look friendly.

Feeling dirty all over she quickly replied, "Yes sir." Putting on a tight smile she clenched her jaw.