An Unsettling Short Story
Copyright 2011 C.E.L. Welsh
The dark sea lifted him up once more. This time the moonlight broke from the strangling cloud cover and revealed the undulating waters before him. Adrift, his legs moving with just enough energy to keep him afloat, he thought he was living a plane crash survivor's worst nightmare. That was when he saw them, dotting the crests and valleys of the black water, their pale, corpse-like hide dully reflecting the light from above...a shiver of sharks.
By day Carson Noble sought out undefended small companies with good bones and conquered them for his masters. By night he extended his conquests to the clubs, either Dance or Racquetball, depending on the day of the week. In all three arenas he cultivated success as precisely as a Bonsai master did his tiny trees. Be it a start-up in over its head, a young Ten that needed to be separated from the herd (and into his Aston Martin) or a junior exec in need of a rubber-ball ass-whipping, Carson was always ready to deliver. He lived his life on the clock and was a firm believer of “a place for everything and everything in its place”, just as long as everything meant whatever it was Carson wanted at the time.
What he really wanted at the moment was for the Stewardess to turn around so he could catch her eye. The ice swimming in his first Grey Goose martini was starting to gasp for air and needed resuscitation. He was fully aware that Flight Attendants hadn't been called Stewardesses in over thirty years, but in his mind they kept the name. Had any of them on this flight been five or so years younger he would have taken a shot at joining the Mile High Club, again.