The List

From the very back of the file drawer he pulled out the large manila envelope. He carefully pulled up the two metal prongs that had been butterflied open and gently pulled the small hole in the envelope flap over the straightened prongs.

Once the envelope was open he grasped the seven sheets of paper inside and pulled them out, placing them on the small table just to the right of the chair.

He lifted the small glass of whiskey that rested on the same table and took a quick sip from it, then returned the glass to the embossed cork coaster that boasted of being reserved for only the finest Ireland had to offer the world.

With his left hand he picked up the receiver of the old fashioned landline phone, and with the index finger of his right hand he punched in *67, then the telephone number that followed the first name listed on the sheet of paper that rested on top of the short stack of paper on the table.

The telephone on the other end of the line rang. It rang twice, then a male voice answered, asking "Hello?"

"Hello," he responded, "Would this be Mr. Kenneth Messinger?"

"Yes, this is he - who is this?"

"Mr. Messinger, it is doubtful if you will remember me. Several years ago you and your now ex-wife shopped at a small home furnishings store that I was an employee of, and you placed an order for a few pieces of furniture. Do you recall that?"

"Furniture? Was it that place in New Castle? Gillman's? That had to be nearly 20 years ago. What about it?"

"If you do recall the purchase Mr. Messinger, perhaps you also recall that your order arrived at our warehouse three weeks late due to a shortage of drivers for the trucks - a major storm had caused severe destruction to the southeastern coast of the country and nearly every truck driver within 500 miles of our warehouse was pressed into service delivering relief supplies to the affected areas. Do you remember that, Mr. Messinger?"

"What? I do remember our furniture got in late, but what the hell are you talking about? What are you calling me for? Is this some kind of insurance pitch?" 

"No, Mr. Messinger, this is not an insurance pitch. Do you recall, by chance, any of the several phone calls you made to the furniture store regarding the delay in your orders' arrival?"

"Look, what is this about? I barely have any recollection of anything about that - it was 20 years ago for chrissakes. What do you want?"

"Well, Mr. Messinger, I want to refresh your memory a bit. You see, I was the employee who was tasked with answering all your calls, and while you may have forgotten those conversations, I have not."

"Huh? Is this some practical joke? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Those calls you placed, Mr. Messinger. That is what I am talking about, the ones in which you cursed and ranted for at least 15 minutes each and every time, accusing me of deliberately holding up your order, of not doing my job, accusing me of being lazy and saying that I was useless, and that you would see to it that I was fired. You don't remember any of that Mr. Messinger?"

"What??!! This is ludicrous! I don't know what you are talking about! Who the hell are you? I will not tolerate such belligerence! I know the Gillmans! I will have you fired!

"Mr. Messinger, the Gillmans passed away a few years ago. Their children sold the store, and I retired. However, I did retain your name and number as I felt it was my duty to call a few of the former customers of Gillman's and relay a most important message."

"This is crazy - what could you possibly have to say to me about a purchase made 20 years ago?"

"Well, to get right to the point Mr. Messinger, I wanted to let you know that it was me who called your now ex-wife a few years after you had placed those many, many calls to Gillman's that I had to answer."

"You called my wife?" 

"Your now ex-wife, Mr. Messinger, the one the judge ordered you to pay the princely sum of eleven million dollars."

"...Why? Why did you call my ex-wife?"

"How do you think she found out about your dalliances with her friend Mr. Messinger? Where do you think she got the photos?"

"What! You sunuvabitch! I'll kill you!"

"No Mr. Messinger, you won't. And it is you who are the sunuvabitch. Have a nice day, and thank you for shopping at Gillman's."

The receiver of the phone was placed back into the cradle. With an orange highlighter he drew a line through the name and number he had just called. Smiling, he looked at the next name and number on the list.

He took another quick sip of Ireland's finest, looked down at the list again, then picked up the phone.