Michael Mackerel, the junior IT analyst behind Billy, clapped. “Throw me that pen, would you?”“It’s literally two feet away, and you can’t call me that.” The rest of those morons who couldn’t find a reset button to save their medical-degreed lives apparently could call him that. But a fellow IT guy, newbie, and soon-to-be replacement? He couldn’t.Mackerel laughed. “Right on, brother. Get your briefs in a bunch. Do what you’re good at.”“Screw it.” Bill had no less than seven more Gianori documentaries to watch, and even with earbuds in, Mackerel was going to cramp his learning curve. “I’ll have my pager on me.”“Fight the good fight.” He chuckled then whispered, “Twat Waffle.”“God!” Billy slammed his work papers down and rushed him, both hands out, grabbing a shirt. He just couldn’t take it anymore. He was going postal. If only they’d given him a goddamn weapon. But they hadn’t. So he bit into Mackerel’s shoulder.Slam.Billy went up. Then down.
