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“The boss will kill us for this,” said Slim, as he shed his jacket.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Johnny. He spoke as slowly and casually as a man who misplaced a nickel. “We’ll figure it out. And why are a couple of critters such a big deal anyway? Not like we lost any of the good stuff.”
The light overhead flickered, briefly shrouding the plastic desk, the creaking office chairs and the beige cabinets in darkness. Atop the desk was a clear box with some fake plants, a rusty hot wheels toy and a hole surrounded by cracks in one of the bottom corners.
Slim scowled at the hole.
“You know the frogs were meant to be a gift from that guy out of Brazil?” he said. “It took days to get them here, and now we’re five blocks from the boss' favorite pasta place and they’re gone!”
Johnny shrugged, making the Kevlar vest under his suit more noticeable for a second. “Listen these frogs are so colourful that Alex Jones is going to test them for chemicals, they’re so colourful they could be a fruit basket.” he said.
“What the crap does that mean?” hissed Slim.
“We’ll find them, easy, they can’t be far,” said Johnny.
So Slim and Johnny looked around the lit portion of the room and found nothing. Then Slim crouched under the desk, and his scrawny body twisted slowly like a snake.
“I still can’t see the boss' frogs!” said Slim.
“Why couldn’t the Brazilians just get a dog or something?” asked Johnny. He opened one of the bottom cabinets and said, “I like dogs. They’re fluffy.”
“The boss is all about his reptiles,” said Slim. He was squinting in the dark under the desk. “He’s got crocodiles, chameleons, turtles, tuataras…”
“Ain’t frogs amphibians?” asked Johnny, while flicking pages in the bottom shelf of the cabinet.
“What’re you doing with that cabinet? You think these frogs are doing tax fraud or something?” asked Slim. “Look where a frog could actually jump to, ya dunce.”
Johnny took a moment to consider his colleague’s comment.
Hey Slim you goddamn moron, Johnny thought to himself. Find the boss' stupid salamander yourself you dumbass. Fuck these guys and their constant bitching. One day, I’ll tie them up and cut them into little meat cubes, and barbecue them. Yeah Slim and the boss too. Then I’ll be the boss, and get some fuckin dogs. Like maybe a German shepherd. Or a Doberman.
Johnny didn’t say any of that out loud, of course. He wasn’t that much of a dunce. That’s when he realized the cabinet was held up by four stubby legs, each as tall as his hand was thick.
Johnny got on all fours like his therapsid ancestors. His bare fingers felt the fuzzy carpeted floor, and his nose could smell the dust. But Johnny couldn’t get a good view of what was under the cabinet. The lights flickered again.
“Fuck!” Slim yelled as he hit his head on the underside of the desk.
Johnny decided to go by feel, and reached under the cabinet. His hand scrambled around like a blind gecko, staying still and then suddenly darting around. He reached to the left. Then he reached to the right. Then he was touching something moist.
“Hah, who’s the dunce now?” Johnny said. The light flickered into darkness while Johnny grabbed and pulled out the boss' poison dart frog.