A few more hooks and they’d be done hanging, observed Delany before switching off the monitors. He didn’t need to see it being done to know it would be done and done properly. That was the art of delegation and he knew it would be ready by morning.
Delany was last to arrive at the table, not uttering a word as he sat before the seven men gathered before him. He sipped on a glass of iced water, seeing a couple of the men squirm in their seats. He liked that. Already, he was winning.
“You know why you’re all here,” began Delany. “What’s it to be?”
“You can’t run everything. We fought hard for territory,” said Frazer, the one Delany had to convince as the others would follow like sheep to the slaughter. He liked the pun.
A vague curling of Delany’s thin lips passed for a smile. “This will change your mind.” He picked up the remote control, turning on the large flat screen. With his back to the screen he watched the faces in front of him, all focused, trying to make out what they were seeing. Then the rapid realisation took hold, their faces contorted in spasms of shock, the colour draining to leave a grey mask. One fled the room, his retching echoing along the hallway.
“My boys must have done a good job.” He inhaled deeply, pausing the image. “Now, I’ll ask one more time. What’s it to be?”
Written for Thursday Threads over at The Weird, the Wild and the Wicked hosted by Siobhan Muir. x