See What A Trillion Dollars Can Buy You [FICTOID]

The hollow nosed bullet entered the base of the billionaire’s skull at supersonic speed, flattening and expanding into a mushroom shape.  It obliterated the brain stem then traveled upwards and onwards, blasting out the frontal lobes.

The last conscious thought the billionaire experienced in this life was a psychedelic cacophony of images / odors / sensations from his life:  His first multi-million dollar deal scented with the aroma of wet peat moss, his second ex-wife taking her slip off to the tune of “Kyrie Eleison,” his father brutalizing him as a boy mingled with the taste of pepper mint ice cream.

All that in a single split second then it was over.  The billionaire is no longer a part of this story,

The assassin?  One other than the billionaire’s boss.

“Thank you,” the CEO said, handing the pistol back to his chief bodyguard.

The bodyguard stared incredulously at the body on the floor, wondering if he should guard it as well.  “Was there a reason for that?” he asked.

“No, just felt like blowing somebody’s head off.”

The bodyguard licked his lips drily.  “I see.  And what would you like us to do with…”  Here he gestured impotently at the corpse.  “…him?”

“Oh, get him out of here,” said the CEO.  “Can’t have him stinking up the joint.  Look, shit and piss leaking out one end, brains and blood out the other.”

“I’ll call housekeeping.”

“You do that.  But first tell the club I’m coming to play golf.  Have ‘em line up a bunch of cute caddies for me.”

“Yes, sir.  Should I notify your lawyer?”

“Whatever for?  He doesn’t play golf.”

“To -- ahem! -- see to any legal inquiries that might arise.”

“What legal inquiries?  I’m the richest gawddamn person on the planet.  What’s the point of having all the money if you can’t fuck anybody you want?”

“’Kill’.”

“Pardon?”

“I think you meant to say ‘kill anybody you want’ not ‘fuck anybody you want’.”

“Po-TAY-to, po-TAH-to.”

© Buzz Dixon