The Bunbury Corporation

8/7/2019 The Bunbury Corporation

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The Bunbury Corporation

'A Trivial Company for Serious People

1.

Do you know about the gorilla and the basketball? Its a famous perception test.

People are shown a video of a basketball match for a few minutes and are asked to

count the number of times the ball is passed around. The funny thing about the

video is that, somewhere halfway through the footage, a guy in a gorilla suit walks

by, acting silly. Apparently, about half the people who take the test fail to notice

the gorilla. Better still, when shown the video again, they insist that the gorilla was

never even there to begin with. This process is called intentional blindness: our

brains only see what were looking for. We focus on one thing, and blur out the

rest. Kind of like in a photograph. After all, what happens in the background isnt

important, right? Thats why its in the background. Wrong. What happens in thefront is just a faade. What happens in the background is whats actuallygoing on.

So know that, at any given time in your life, there could be a gorilla lurking in the

background. And if there is, hes almost always out to get you, and get you, he

will. This is what I learned in the past year, and I learned it the hard way.

I remember now that, when I first heard Al mention the name, it didnt at all strike

me as remarkable, or even notable. It had that typical reassuring quality that onlythe really big ones manage to reserve for themselves. You know, the household

names. Those that have been around for as long as anyone can remember,

surreptitiously etching themselves into the fabric of society itself. Well, this

sounded exactly like one of those. I had a vague sense that Id heard it before.

Maybe I had. It was possible, I suppose, theoretically. Who knows just who

widespread it really is? Theres no way of telling

But anyway


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Hi!, Al said.

Ah Hello boys., Bracknell replied from behind a disorderly disarray of papers. A

glass stood sizzling on the desk before him, dying with excitement to alleviate

another of his famous headaches. The man drank the stuff like common mortals

drank soft drinks.

Working late, hm?, he asked us, knitting his brow.

Bracknell looked awful. He probably hadnt slept in days. Well, not in a bed

anyway

Same as yourself, boss., I said. We finished the Prism presentation, by the

way

Great, thats a relief, Bracknell sighed. Thanks guys. Nice to know I still got

some people I can depend on"

Hey, no problem, chief!, Al replied as light-heartedly as he could muster after a

15-hour workday. Want us to give you a hand with those accounts?

No thanks, Bracknell said. You just stick to what youre good at, Moncrieff, and

Ill do the same.

Talking of which, were going clubbing! Wanna come with?, Al asked.

I wasnt entirely sure he was kidding, because you never really were with Al. Thank

God Bracknell chose to take it as a joke

Haha, thanks for the offer, but Im just gonna finish this and head home I think,

he said.


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Then, seemingly as an afterthought, he added: You guys coming tomorrow, I

trust?.

This was a rhetorical question. Tomorrow was, of course, the big annual company

bash. You werent obliged to attend, but it was strongly advised which meant

well that you were obliged to attend.

Wouldnt wanna miss it for the world!, I lied between my teeth.

Im gonna have to take a rain check, Im afraid, Al said.

He might as well have said: Im just gonna go and head butt that lion over

there., because Bracknells tired little eyes suddenly increased threefold in size.

You wont!?, the boss exclaimed.

Afraid so. Got this, erm fund raising thing that I really cant afford to miss.

Bracknells eyebrows spelled incredulity. (if anyone could fit such a big word up

there, it was Oscar The Man With Three Moustaches Bracknell). Clearly, the chief

didnt quite know how to react. In the end, he decided not to, and simply

continued staring at Al, who, bizarrely, didnt seem in the least intimidated by

this.

Would have loved to be there of course, but you just dont say no to the Bunbury

Corporation, do you?, Al explained.

To my surprise, Bracknell didnt insist any further after that. Probably because he

was just too knackered. Or because he knew that this unfortunate decision would

go on to haunt Al for the rest of his career. Which might now turn out to be a lot

shorter than he expected.

Well, cant be helped then, Bracknell muttered.


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Dont worry, this guy here..., Al said, pointing his thumb in my direction,

...will tell me all about it afterwards, Im sure!

See that he does, Moncrieff, see that he does!, the chief replied, in a failed

attempt at cheerfulness.

Well, were off clubbing then! Good night, chief!, Al said.

Good night., Oscar Bracknell mumbled.

We walked the dark corridors in silence. In the elevator, I asked Al:

Are you mad or just plain stupid?

A little bit from column A and a little bit from column B!, he said.

There is no such thing as a Bunbury Corporation, is there?, I asked.

Aaaaah! Thats an interesting question. Quite a philosophical one, in fact.

You do realize youre going to get the sack for this?

Well see, well see..., Al said, grinning mysteriously. Sowhaddayathink?

Saloms or the Ravenna Club?

Im not going clubbing with you., I said.

Spoilsport..., Al pouted.

The elevator went bing, we got out into the parking lot, and strolled towards our

respective transporting vehicles, his a 1986 Porsche 911 Carrera, mine a third-hand

bike of unspecified origin. They were ironically parked side to side.


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Well, in case I dont see you tomorrow: have fun at the party!, Al said

sardonically.

I wont, but at least I 'll still have a job afterwards, I replied.

Al smiled defiantly, gracefully slid into the drivers seat of his Boast Mobile and

arrogantly speeded off through the empty garage, into the dead of night.

Al and I, we go back a long way, all the way to primary school. Nothing much had

changed since then. He had always been the cocky one, I had the brains to match.

Even at such a tender age, we realized that, individually, we formed the very

epitomes of uselessness, yet, combined, we were a force to be reckoned with. And

so, ever since the highly successful Sponge of Doom vs. Math Teacher - venture in

third-grade, we had consistently and exclusively operated in unison.

I always wanted to be an artist. Al, on the other hand, wanted to be successful.

Having no real talents of his own, apart from his uncanny ability to borrow other

peoples talents and disguise them as his own, advertising seemed the way to go

for him. Bracknell and Partners being the most prestigious name in the business

(the only one Al had ever heard of actually), he decided to apply there, for the

position of junior marketeer. He bluffed his way through the interview, got the

job, and, as soon as he realized he was actually going to have to do something

now, sent for me. That is, when his supervisor mentioned Bracknell and Partners

could really do with another junior assistant marketeer, Al assured him that he

knew just the guy.

Apparently, wed be working in team, developing marketing strategies for a wide

range of companies that produced things and offered services that no one could

ever possibly find a use for. Evidently, neither of us had any clue what we were

supposed to be doing. That was when Als star really shone. We thought up slogans

(well, I did), designed logos (well, I did) and presented our feeble plans to the

clients with unequalled passion and conviction (well, Al did). And we got away with

it. Every. Bloody. Time. In less than a year time, we had become Bracknells


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most productive senior marketeers, inspiring considerable amounts of awe among

our equally clueless yet strangely less successful fellow employees. It was these

poor lost souls that I was expected to have a good time with during the much-

dreaded annual company bash.

Every year was the same. The general idea was, of course, that a fairly luxurious

party paid for by the company would make the employees feel appreciated, as well

as improve interpersonal relations among Bracknells many, many different

divisions. This never happened. What happened was that a lot of people who didnt

know each other gathered in a large conference hall to stand around looking

awkward, trying to pass the time by munching exquisite(-looking) hors doeuvres

and boozing up on cheap bubbly. In other words, people got drunk quickly and, as a

result, tended to become dangerously vocal on the subject of their frustrations

about colleagues, supervisors and various other aspects of Bracknell and Partners.

As a result, a company bash wasnt a proper company bash if it didnt have at least

one fistfight and at least three wildly inappropriate Oscar Bracknell-impressions.

And a day after a company bash wasnt a proper day after a company bash if it

didnt have at least several dozen painful water cooler conversations and at least

two dishonourable discharges. I myself had lingered inconspicuously through most

of the evening, trying out how many people I could despise in under one minute. I

think I also made a feeble pass at one of the admin girls and failed graciously. So

nothing too embarrassing. Still, the next morning at work, the general atmosphere

of guilt and terror got to me as well. I was having a fairly rotten day. Right up until

the moment I saw Al walk in, sporting a particularly broad smile, even for him.

Suddenly, I was having a bloody rotten day.

And? How was it?, Al asked, wielding his grin like a sword.

Worst one yet. Four casualties. And counting., I said.

Phieeew!, Al whistled between his teeth. Anyone we know?

Naah, just foot soldiers for the moment.


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At this point, an office door opened, from which Bracknells head stuck out.

Moncrieff! A word!, he snarled.

I felt a pang and looked at Al. He looked unaffected. But then again, he always did.

I warned you, damned!, I hissed into his ear.

Al gave me an amused look and disappeared into the office with Bracknell. He

emerged some five minutes later, looking exactly as he had done five minutes

earlier.

And?, I barely dared ask.

Guess who just got promoted, bitch!, Al said with childish glee.

Errrm You sure you dont mean de-moted'?

Hm, Im not sure., Al said pensively. Whats the one where extra zeroes

suddenly start appearing on your pay checks?"

No way!, I cried. Thatjust doesnt make any sense! You should ve been

Yet I wasnt!, Al interrupted. So lets celebrate! Spontaneous lunch break!

Come on, Im buying!

In the cafeteria, I sat staring at Al like a caveman at a jet fighter. He was utterly

amused.

Could you, I started off, if you please, explain to me, in the simplest

wording possible, what the fuck just happened!?

Ah well, you see, the thing isno, I cant., Al smiled.


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So what did Bracknell say to you exactly?

Well,, Al began, he said that I was an invaluable asset to the company,

whose by no means inconsiderable achievements had too long gone unnoticed, and

that it was about time I was rewarded for my valiant efforts accordingly with lots

and lots of moolah He didnt actually say that last one.

I dont get it.

Were not jealous, are we?, Al winked.

No., I replied, truthfully. Justconfused.

Hm., Al hummed. Clearly, he knew something, which, for some reason, he

wasnt supposed to share with me. Luckily, Al was very bad at keeping secrets. He

leaned forward and, in a conspiratory sort of voice, said:

Okay, okay. Ill tell you whats going on. But not here. Come to my place after

work and Ill explain everything Well, not everything. But Ill tell you what I

know. Deal?

Deal, I said.

Als luxurious bachelor pad was located on the top floor of the highest apartment

building in the City. He found it suited his inflated sense of self-worth perfectly. Al

received me with his usual theatrical cordiality and offerings of brightly coloured

alcoholic beverages. I sat myself down in his hideous green sofa, and waited for

him to start talking.

There really isnt much to tell, Al said.

I rather think there is, I replied.


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Al straightened his back and said:

Okay, so basically Im an employee,well,a member of a company,or ratheran

organisation

The Bunbury Corporation.

an organisation, Al continued, that provides people with

certainfacilitatingservices.

Could you possibly be any vaguer?

Im sorry, okay?!, Al said, seemingly at a loss. Its notI cantthere s nothing

to compare it with, you see?

I dont., I said. So what does this Bunbury Corporation do exactly?

I dont know, Al replied.

Yet you work for them.

Yeahwellyou might as well say they work for me...

Its, like, insurances then or something?, I suggested.

Ermsort ofI suppose. In a way.

Okay, youre getting on my nerves now, mate., I told Al. If you dont want to

share your little secret with me, fine. But frankly Ive got better things to do than

sit here and listen to your enigmatic drivel!


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I didnt actually. Al knew that. I was expecting a snazzy remark, but it didnt

come. Instead, he said:

Tell you what: if you really, really want to know, youre gonna have to become a

member yourself.

I pondered this over for a second. Then I said:

Sure, what the hell. What do I have to do?

Nothing. Ill propose you and then theyll contact you. Thats how it goes.

How Masonic of them., I remarked. Okay, you go on and propose me then. Hey,

maybe, one day, we could go Bunburying together sometime! Who knows?

Who knows?, Al echoed. Another drink?

Gladly, I said.


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2.

I spent the next day at work on the phone to the Prism people, answering questions

that I didnt know the answer to. Apparently, they were having second thoughts. I

didnt even know theyd had first thoughts. Lunchtime came slowly, and when it

finally did, I was washed up already. Halfway through a delicious cardboard and

plastic sandwich, my phone rang.

Hello?, I asked.

Good afternoon. This is Cecily from the Bunbury Corporation. Am I speaking to

Jack?, a pleasant womans voice wanted to know.

You are.

Excellent. You expressed an interest in becoming a member of the Bunbury

Corporation, I believe?, the woman agreeably asked.

I did, yeah.

And you are, at this point, still interested in joining our organisation?, the

velvety voice continued.

I think so, yes.

Good. In that case, would it convene you to drop by our offices tonight around,

say 8-ish?

Erm, yeah, sure. That wont be a problem, I said. Whats the address?

She told me.

Okay, Ill be there.


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Perfect. Well be expecting you. Thanks for choosing 'Bunbury', Jack. Have a

wonderful afternoon!, the voice cheerfully spoke.

Thanks, ermCecily.

I had a wonderful afternoon reworking the Prism presentation while cursing Als

hide. I got off at 6, grabbed a bite at the Paki round the corner and called a cab at

around 7.30.

Whereabouts are we going, sir?, a particularly sour-looking driver was forced to

ask.

1895 Woolton Road.

Right., the man said, and off we went.

The driver remained silent throughout the journey, which was a relief. Skilfully, he

steered the car through a maze of increasingly unfamiliar lanes and streets, deep

into the uncharted backwaters of the city. It was not long before I had lost every

sense of direction. After some twenty minutes of seemingly aimless meandering,

the car came to a halt.

Here we are, sir. Thatll be 7.80.

This cant be right..., I said.

We had stopped in a very narrow alleyway that didnt look as if it was inhabited by

anything other than stray dogs and desolation. The house that bore the number

1895 was a pile of bricks that might have known better days somewhere around the

Crimean War. Its windows had been darkened, as if it were too embarrassed to

show its interior to anyone.


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Very well then, young man!, Dorian suddenly went, in a pompous voice. Can

you tell me which 17th century British poet famously claimed it is better to reign

in hell than to serve in heaven?

Erm, can I call a friend?

Dorian laughed ever so briefly and then returned to his regular voice.

I believe Al Moncrieff proposed you to us?, he asked.

Yeah, he did.

Bit of a maverick, isnt he, our Al?

I bet hed take that as a compliment, I said.

I bet he would. Still, we need people like him. But we also need people like you,

Jack., Dorian said, fixing his stare on me.

And what for, if I may ask?

Ah, Ill answer that with another question, if I may. Do you consider yourself to

be what is generally known as an honest man, Jack?, Dorian asked.

Erm, I suppose so, yes.

And, Jack,, he continued, am I also correct in assuming that, despite this

truly admirable conviction of yours, you have at some point, or indeed points, in

your life, lied?

Wellhasnt everyone, at least once?


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Seems a bitfar-fetched to me. Hiring a company to get out of going to parties,

I remarked.

Oh, but thats just one of the least interesting examples of what 'Bunbury' can do

for you, Jack. There is literarily no limit to the services we provide. As a

'Bunbury'-member, your back is always covered. Wherever you are, youre in the

clear and off the hook, we see to that. See it as life-insurance, with real time

benefits.

Hm, well, I cant say Im not a little intrigued. Im still looking for the catch,

though.

There is a catch., Dorian admitted. It's called guilt. If you can live with that,

you have nothing to fear.

Well, my mother was a Catholic so I think Ill manage., I said.

Dorian smiled.

I take it youre in then?, he asked.

Depends., I replied. What is this gonna cost me?

Ah, theres the beauty! Nothing, Jack, thats what its gonna cost you!

Thats nice. But how do you people make money then?

We have various sources of income., Dorian said. Most of our funds come from

donations, though. We find that the vast majority of our members, in time, feel

the need to express their gratitude to 'Bunbury' financially, I am glad to say.

Okay, I said. Sign me up then.


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You wont regret this., Dorian said, handing me the piece of paper hed been

holding when I came in. Sign on the dotted lines, if you please.

I did.

Glad to have you on board, Jack!, Dorian said.

He got up and shook my hand. Firmly.

Sowhat happens now?, I asked him, while my hand was nigh being crushed.

Dorian released his grip and proceeded to take a small card from the inside pocket

of his vest.

Well, Jack, whenever you need us, give us a call and well take care of

everything, he said while, quite impertinently, stuffing his business card down the

breast pocket of my shirt.

It was Milton, by the way., I blurted out.

Pardon?

Better to reign in hell than to serve in heaven? That was Milton. 'Paradise Lost'.

Was it? I must remember that., Dorian said. Ill see you around, Jack!

Great. ThanksDorian.


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3.

They say Curiosity killed the cat. Thats not true. Curiosity was entirely innocent.

He was framed by those treacherous thugs Audacity and Recklessness. People

always get that wrong.

Though I am in essence a careful and sensible person, I have been known to take

risks from time to time. But never without a sound exit strategy. I had decreed

that, at any given point in my life, I should be able to walk away from everything

unhindered, unharmed, unaffected. Ive never had any attachments, professional,

emotional or otherwise, that I couldnt give up in a split second. So, naturally, I

hadnt given this Bunbury-thing much thought. It was new and interesting, so

definitely worth checking out. As soon as Id grow bored or disappointed with it

(which would probably be fairly soon) I d get rid of it, like I did with everything

else in life. Or so I assumed.

The following couple of weeks, business went on as usual. I got the Prism people of

our backs, we brought in some clients, made some deals, screwed up some, got

away with it. Nothing out of the ordinary. Then, one morning, I arrived at the

office not to find Al there. Word had it hed taken the week off. Which was a bit of

a nuisance, because we had about 12 billion things to take care of that particular

week. I went up to Bracknell to ask what gives.

You mean he didnt tell you?, Bracknell asked me in turn.

I guess he didnt..., I said.

Well,, the chief said, in that tone of voice of his that meant something

unpleasant was coming your way. Moncrieffs brother passed away yesterday.

Apparently, it was all very sudden and unexpected. The guy was a bit in shreds

about it, of course. Asked if he could have the week off, to sort things out for the

funeral and such. I mean, what was I gonna say? So Im afraid youre on your own

this week, Worthing.


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I see. Poor guy. Okay, dont worry, Ill manage., I said, even though I knew

wouldnt.

Theres a lad! You gotta stand by your pals in difficult times such as these,

Worthing., Bracknell found.

Aint that the truth!, I replied, I said and went my way, grumbling.

What you need to know here, is that Al was an only child. The guy was having

everyone on, and I was about to suffer the consequences. I got through the worst

week in my working career solely motivated by anger. Finally, on Monday, Al

turned up again, sporting a suspiciously healthy tan and an infuriatingly laid-back

attitude. I came very near to punching him right on the sun-burnt nose, but instead

opted to corner the scumbag by the coffee machine and verbally confront him

there.

What the hell do you think youre playing at!?, I gently screamed at his face.

Hey, gimme a break, my brother just died., Al said.

You dont have a brother!

Not anymore., he said. Check out these cool obituary cards I got!

Al handed me a small black-edged card. It read: For we to death with pipe and

dancing go. In loving memory of Alfred Douglas Moncrieff, brother and

confabulologist.

Thats justyou bastard!Wait until you see his death certificate!I hate you

so much right now., I hissed.

I just needed a break, okay?You left me to dry!, I said. Last week was a

royal fuck-up, all thanks to you!


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Now youre just flattering me!Its not funny, okay? There is such a thing as

responsibility, you know?

Not in my life., Al said. All my responsibilities are professionally shirked by a

specialized company. But hey, I hear you signed up too? So why didnt you pull a

'Bunbury' yourself? Leave Bracknell to clean up the pieces?

Because I actually have a sense of morality?, I replied.

Its true, you do, Al said, compassionately. Id recommend a great deal of

'Bunburying' then. I personally find it gets rid of a lot of moral conundrums.

Perhaps Ill do that then. Just to screw you over.

Thats the spirit!, Al laughed. Anyway, I best go do some work now or

something.

You sure about that?, I said, sarcastically.

Al grabbed his coffee and walked off. Halfway through the corridor, he stopped and

turned around.

But seriously, he said, shifting into false earnesty-mode. 'Bunbury'give it a

shot, okay? You wont live to regret it, I promise!

Ill think about it., I said.

And I never did. Think about it, I mean. A few weeks later though, I got a call from

Gwen, my ex-wife. She was getting married again. And, just to show there were no

hard feelings, I was invited to the wedding, where we were supposed to catch up

on things, relive some of our fondest memories together and generally be very okay

and mature about everything, in a decidedly non-embittered and by no means


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childishly resentful way. So, was I coming? My mind screamed No!, my mouth

said Yeah, sure. I hate it when that happens.

And so, that weekend, I went to that place where Al usually gets his fancy attire

from, to buy myself a proper suit. I tried on several, but failed to look presentable

in any of them. I finally settled on a characterless three-piece black ensemble that

I found wasnt too bad of a fit. In the cubicle, I folded up my new costume,

wriggled myself back into my black jeans and snatched my shirt off the coat

hanger. A card fell out. I picked it up and saw the words 'Bunbury Corporation: A

Trivial Company for Serious People' seductively staring back at me.

Hm.

I called the number as soon as I got home.

Bunbury Corporation. How may I help you?, Cecily answered, even before the

second ring.

Err Jack Worthing here?

Hello Jack! How can I help you?, Cecily cheered.

Yeah, well, erm, Cecily, Im having a bit of a problem and I was wondering if

Bunbury could perhaps help me out?

Absolutely, thats what were here for. Cecily said. How about I make you an

appointment for tomorrow. Let me see eleven-ish, would that be convenient for

you?

Err yeah, sure., I said.

Wonderful! Ill see you tomorrow then. Goodbye, Jack!

Goodbye.


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You never know when those ll come in handy. We here at Bunbury like to keep

all eventualities covered. Just in case.

Sure.

Cecily took a tight hold of my right hand, and gently pressed the tips of my fingers

against the inkpad. I couldnt help but feel a little aroused.

Right, thats you all set up then!, she smiled. If you have any further questions

or queries, dont hesitate to contact us.

I will. Thanks a lot.

Youre welcome., Cecily said. And thank you for choosing Bunbury! Youll find

your own way out?

I will. Goodbye.

On the day, everything went according to plan. As expected, Gwen called me the

day after to ask how I was. Shed been over to the hospital, but Id already

checked out. She had been terribly worried. I assured Gwen it had been a very mild

heart attack indeed. Too much stress at work, chest pain, blocked artery, much

ado about very little, really. I congratulated her on her marriage and expressed my

sincerest regrets at not being able to attend. She told me to take care and

suggested that, after her prolonged honeymoon to some expensively exotic

country, we go out for coffee sometime. I non-committedly agreed.

I must admit that, when I got off the phone with Gwen, I felt a pang of guilt. But

much less so than expected. Paradoxically, the elaborateness of the operation

seemed to make things easier somehow. The more lies you pile up, the easier it

becomes to forget what the truth was anyway. I think this is a very big part of how

religion works, actually.


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But anyway, Id gotten the hang of it now, and in the next few weeks, I pulled

several more Bunburys, each time feeling a little less guilty about them. I shunned

jury duty, got out of a high school reunion and took a week off work. I understood

now why Bunbury would appeal to someone like Al. Its an immensely liberating

feeling, to be responsible for nothing. But, on the other hand, Bunburying made

you frighteningly dependant. After all, when it came down to it, we were putting

our fates in the hands of complete strangers. Al didnt mind too much about that,

though. Trust is the keyword here., Al had said to me one day. If you trust

them, completely and without question, theyll cover for you. Thats the deal.

True, we dont know who these people are or what theyre after, but that doesnt

matter. The trick is to convince yourself you trust them. Dont think too much,

take a blind leap. Dont worry: theyll catch you.

Thing is, though, I dont trust people. Never have. I didnt have a problem with the

guilt, that passed, but the trust-thing bugged me. Still, I went ahead with it,

because why the hell not? I had nothing much to lose.

Instigated by Als persistent nudging as much as by my own sense of curiosity, I set

out to explore the exact limits of what Bunbury could do for me. These were

practically boundless, it turned out. Bunbury didnt just get you out off things,

they got you into stuff as well. Permit me to clarify.

When I started out at Bracknell, I got myself a pretty fab apartment, befit to my

newfound status as overpaid young urban professional. Rent was, much like the

glorious rooftop terrace, sky-high, though I didnt mind too much. The apartment

was intended as a temporary solution, a short but welcome interval between long

periods of unemployment and crashing on other peoples sofas. Enjoy it while it

lasts, I had told myself, while counting the zeroes on the down-payment. It

lasted, and kept on lasting, in so much that, three years on, I still found myself

prancing around in this preposterously luxurious bachelor pad of mine. Recently,

however, the owner had decided to put the place on the market. As his exemplary

long-term tenant, I was of course, he told me, entitled to first bidding rights. Now,

I did have some cash stashed away, but not nearly enough to buy the apartment.


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But I figured that, having made it this far already, I wasnt likely to get the sack

any time soon, so I told the guy Id take it, providing I could get a big enough loan.

I mentioned this to Al at work one day, which elicited the classic response: a smug

and condescending smile.

What?, I asked.

A loan isnt a problem., he replied.

Erm, it kinda is, though, for that amount of money.

I can get you the money tomorrow, at an interest rate so low youd hardly notice

youre paying it., Al claimed.

I see, and does that involve any breaking of knees?

None, whatsoever. Thats not Bunburys style.

Ah, so theyre a bank now?

Better still. Theyre a fuckin charity. Give m a call. Youll be amazed., Al said.

I was. The interest rate was criminal. I signed immediately and bought the

apartment the next day. And with this, any doubts I still had about Bunbury

disappeared. They really could get things done. I got VIP-invitations to high society

parties, special discounts in designer shops, all-inclusive trans-atlantic flights to

wherever I pleased, and a very high opinion of myself. I was moving up in the

world, without actually doing anything. I think this is what people call being

successful.


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4.

One Monday, feeling a bit under the weather due to excessive boozing in the

weekend, I arrived at Bracknell to find my fellow workers in a state of someagitation. There was much subdued whispering and walking about nervously. It

almost looked like a proper office floor. Most of the turmoil seemed to be

centralized around Bracknells office, in front of which had gathered a crowd of

some twenty people in order to murmur. As I approached the murmurers, their

heads turned to me in unison. They werent looking at me though, but at Al, who

had just emerged from the corridor behind me, apparently holding all the answers.

The crowd flocked around him, like fan boys begging a rock star for an autograph.Al warded off his admirers with decisive hand gestures and positioned himself right

in front of Bracknells office door.

Alright, everybody shut up for a second, okay?, he bellowed.

Obediently, everybody did.

Okay, so I suppose youve all been informed already

I hadnt.

I just wanna make clear that, at this point, I dont know anything more than you

do, but what I do know

The turmoil briefly returned.

but what I do know, Al continued, raising his voice, is that we have to

keep this business running somehow Its what he would have wanted.

Huh?


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next Monday, I received one such mail marked High priority. It informed me and

my fellow workers of the fact that, following a unanimous board vote, Mr. Al

Moncrieff had been instated as the new CEO of Bracknell and Partners. I rushed to

what was now officially Als office but found a bunch of suck-ups already queuing

up. After a, frankly, humiliating half-hour wait, I was finally granted an audience

with my best friend.

He looked different. When last Id seen him, hed been boyish Al, naughtily

spinning in Bracknells chair, giggling like a kid in a toy store. He wasnt that Al

anymore. He seemedlarger. Much more poised. Much like the CEO of the worlds

biggest advertising company, in fact. My new boss smiled and offered me a seat.

Was it me or did his smile seem just a bit too affected?

WellIm baffled., I said.

Makes two of us., Al replied.

I suppose congratulations are in order.

Thanks. Couldnt have done this without you, of course.

I didnt do anything.

You did more than you think, Jack., Al said, fixing his most scrutinizing stare on

me. You know, things are gonna change around here from now on. Drastically.

And you could be a big part of that.

Yeah, wellIm not sure if I want to, I said.

You dont have a choice, pal! Im in charge here!, Al jested. But seriously, Im

gonna need your help. I cant do this thing on my own.

Bracknell did it on his own.


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Yeah. Badly. Theres an enormous potential to this company, but Bracknell just

couldnt see that, from behind those thick, bushy eyebrows of his. But I can. And

so can you, Jack. Am I right?

Probably., I said.

We could make something special out of Bracknell and Partners, you and I.

Yeaaah

Al smiled, much as one would whilst explaining something really simple to a

retarded child.

Say what, why dont you come round my place tonight?, he said. Discuss my

proposition in a more informal and inebriated environment. See how you feel

then.

Yeah, okay. Well do that.

Great. Send in the next supplicant on your way out, will you?, Al said, smiling

again.

Well, this was always going to happen, wasnt it?, I told myself on the way

home. Whatever Al wants, Al gets. That goes for girls, money and senior

management positions. It had always been really just a matter of time before he d

push Bracknell aside and take over. Only, this wasnt how it was supposed to

happen. This was too sudden, too easy. I had this strange gut feeling that

something wasnt quite right. Not that I wasnt happy for Al, I was. It might be

hard to believe, but I actually liked the guy. He was a lot of fun. Sure, he could be

pretty ruthless at times, but never on purpose. Al breathed ambition, he just

couldnt help himself. If you stood in the way between him and success, well, then

you were going down. I personally never stood in his way, simply because I never


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The old bat from apartment 3 had probably gone and complained about the

imaginary night-time noise again. She was deaf as a post anyway, so I dont know

why she even bothered. I just think she really liked complaining. Sporting my most

irritated expression, I took the escalator downstairs, where I faced two surly

policemen. The surliest of them said:

Mr. Jack Worthing, Im arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Oscar

Bracknell. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you

do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court.

Anything you do say may be given in evidence.

I didnt say anything.

The tallest of the two policemen nodded at his smaller and more rotund colleague,

who apprehensively grabbed my right arm and started nudging me towards the

police car, which, in a true display of law-enforcing bad-assery, was parked

diagonally over the sidewalk, its waving flashlights greeting me in cheerful disdain.

Cue the old bat from apartment 3 walking by with her groceries. She eyed me

triumphantly, shrivelling her face into a malicious smile. I briefly considered

spitting at her but decided against it, as it would only serve to confirm her

prejudices about me. Instead, I looked stark ahead and got into the back seat of

the car with all the dignity I could muster. It wasnt much.

The gravity of the situation didnt really register at first. On the way to the police

station, I couldnt stop wondering whether Id left the lights on in my apartment.

Only when seated in an interrogating room opposite two detectives on suspicion of

murdering my boss did it occur to me that something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

The tall detective was studying me. He looked in his forties, was balding and had

an ironic face, with small, impertinent eyes. A lean, mean interrogation machine.

He popped the question, just like in the movies:


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The risks of severe haemorrhage are significantly increased when used in

combination with so-called antiplatelet drugs. Such as Paracetamol.

He did that waiting thing again.

So, basically, if one would take a glass of water, dissolve a Paracetamol tablet in

it, then add a highly concentrated dose of Warfarin through, say, a hypodermic

syringe, one would wind up with something that looks like a perfectly harmless

cure for a common headache but is in fact a lethal cocktail.

I suppose, I said.

Mr. Worthing, did you, on the night of the 16th of October, poison your former

boss Oscar Bracknell at his home?

No No, I didnt., I managed to utter.

Okay, the detective said, now dramatically leaning into the back of his chair

for a change. Have you recently had any heart problems, Mr. Worthing?

Err, no, I havent.

Are you sure? Because, a while ago, you spent a day in hospital following a mild

heart attack, didnt you?

Oh shit. Id forgotten about that. Well...Id just have to go along with it, wouldnt

I? The Bunbury man had been boasting about their alibis being absolutely fail proof.

What better moment to put their thoroughness to the test?

Yeah, sorry, I forgot about that. It wasnt a big deal anyway, just, you know, a

lot of stress at work, had a small episode. Nothing too dramatic, I rambled.


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I understand., the detective said, mock-compassionately. Only, the doctor that

supposedly treated you has no recollection of seeing anyone called Jack Worthing

that day. Strange, isnt it?

Minus 1 for Bunbury.

Probably some administrative cock-up?, I suggested.

Well, Mr. Worthing, the strange thing is that your name does show up on their

files. As does a prescription for a large dose of Warfarin which was supposedly

administered to you. Only, no one really remembers administrating it to you. Yet,

a significant amount of Warfarin did mysteriously disappear from the hospital that

day, along with one hypodermic syringe Its all a bit of an enigma, isnt it, Mr.

Worthing?, the detective concluded.

Someone took the ground from beneath my feet. Luckily I was sitting down.

But lets not dwell into all that, shall we?, the detective continued, ever-

smiling. So, Mr. Worthing, youre absolutely sure you didnt visit Oscar Bracknell

that Friday night? I want you to think real carefully. Maybe you did go by his house

but had a bit too much to drink, and forgot about it? It happens, you know.

Theres nothing embarrassing about that. Lord knows I had it happen to me in my

younger days! You can tell me. Or perhaps theres another reason why youre not

being straight with me, Mr. Worthing? Jack? Im trying to help you here, Jack. I

want to make things easier on you, honestly

He was good at this, my detective. His assistant, the rotund one, knew it too,

thats why he hadnt spoken a word since hed dragged me into that police car.

The guy just sat at the back, watching, marvelling at my downfall. He knew I would

crack. Get it over with, son., his friendly features seemed to say. That was his

part, and he played it with conviction. They were actors in a ridiculous play, these

detectives, and so was I. I knew what the script said next, but I just couldnt bring

myself to say the lines. Problem was, I hadnt actually killed Oscar Bracknell. But


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how to explain? As I went through the events of the last couple of months in my

head, I realized just how ridiculous it all sounded. Basically, Id been set-up as my

bosss murderer by an international secret organisation.

No, really.

On the plus side, if I actually said that, I could probably get away with pleading

insanity. The best option at this point, however, seemed saying nothing, so I did

just that. To my detective this was as much as confession. He had me cornered and

he knew it. He moved in for the proverbial kill.

So you didnt visit Bracknells house then?

No, I said.

Hm. Then you wouldnt mind if we took your fingerprints and compared them to

the ones we found on the glass?

Okay, I was dead.

No, sure. Go ahead, I said, and I meant it. I just didnt care anymore. All was

lost anyway.

Say what, Ill make you a deal., the detective said. At this point, youre

looking at twenty years at least. I could cut that down to ten, maybe even five. All

I need is a name.

What?

Who ordered the hit, Jack?

The hit?


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Not at all.

Just in case, you might want to contact your lawyer. Because you just never

know, do you? Do you have a lawyer, Mr. Worthing?

Sure. Chap called Chasuble.

Never heard of him. Is he any good?

Hes not bad., I said.

Chasuble was the guy who took care of my financial affairs. Hed also sorted out

my divorce with Gwen, much to my financial benefit. He was a meticulous pen

pusher with an almost physical passion for legal backdoors. He also had a facial

twitch that made him wink at you every other second, like he was constantly up to

something mischievous. Mind you, he usually was.

My valet here..., the detective said, pointing at the constable by the door,

...will escort you to your chambers. I sincerely hope youll find them to your

liking. Pleasant dreams, Mr. Worthing!

Yeah, you too

When I told him on the phone, Chasuble was convinced I was pulling his leg. I

actually had to put the constable on before he believed me. Chasuble predictably

advised me to say nothing until he got there. Audibly, murder cases werent

exactly his cup of tea. I finished the call and followed the valet to my chambers. I

must admit, they were not as uncomfortable as anticipated. Granted, spacious they

were not, yet they offered adequate facilities and were reasonably clean. Id slept

in worse hotel rooms. All things considered, I had a good nights rest.


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Sure enough, Chasuble turned up the next morning. As expected, he was in quite a

state.

I came as soon I could! Are you alright?, he asked.

Ive been worse., I said, which wasnt exactly true.

I mean, what an outrage! Who do they think they are? They cant do this! They

have no right!

Yeah

Chasuble stared at me for a second. I stared back. There was an uncomfortable

silence. I saw Chasubles winking increasing.

Youyou didnt do it, did you?, he asked.

Of course I didnt.

Okay, Chasuble said, resuming his normal winking regime. But they did come

up with a strong case against you, I must say.

I know.

Still, youll be cleared as soon as the fingerprints come through, dont worry.

Uhu.

I was thinking, we could sue them for harassment. Were looking at maybe ten

grand recompense here.

Yeah.


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Look at you now. A jailbird! Talk about bad luck though, hey?, Chasuble winked.

Its just, these coppers, they dont know what theyre doing, really. Thank God I

do, or theyd have you banged up for twenty years!

Imagine that.

Lets not, Worthing, lets not!, Chasuble said. Anyway, I gotta go now. Get

started on your case. You hang in there, Worthing. You wont be in here for much

longer, I promise.

See you around, Chasuble.

The fingerprints came through and they were a match. There was a trial. Chasuble

crashed and burned. He accused the police of fabricating evidence, a claim he

could not back at all. If ever there was a clear conviction, it was mine. In his final

address, the judge condemned my passive attitude throughout the trial, which he

described as symptomatic for the twisted psyche of a cold-blooded, remorseless

murderer. I got twenty years. Chasuble was furious and wanted to appeal, but I

said no. The verdict was harsh but I felt I deserved it. I hadnt actually killed a

man, but I had lied and deceived people for self-gain. And, worse of all, Id been

stupid and naive. The verdict only served me right.

My case got a lot of press, I followed it closely in the papers. They focused mainly

on Bracknells long alleged but now finally confirmed mob connections. There was

much speculation about who had ordered the hit. And I, the killer, was at the heart

of the mystery. I had no traceable connections to any of the main criminal

syndicates. I could have been working for anyone. Out of loyalty for my employer

(the mob, not Bracknell), I chose to keep schtum however, which allowed for the

media to continue making unfounded guesses through several (not really) revealing

investigative reports for months on end. I even saw Al on telly once, actually,

appearing as CEO of the scandal-ridden company. He assured everyone the fumes

of criminal activity had been thoroughly exhumed, and expressed his firm belief


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that the ever-resilient Bracknell and Partners was ready for a clean break, a fresh

start. The guy was wholly believable. Sly bastard.

Prison life, I found, suited me. Its lulling routine and solitary calm helped put my

soul to rest. I took up writing. Short stories mostly. I read a lot too. Basically, I did

all the things I never got round to doing when I was a free man. Honestly: I hadnt

lost anything that I couldnt do without in the affair. I had taken my precautions

after all. Practically, socially and emotionally. Somehow, I had always known Id be

exposed one way or the other, one day or another. The form in which it finally

came was a bitunexpected. But it was a fitting outcome. A sad but just ending


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5.

One day, in spring, it was announced I had a visitor. I assumed itd be Gwen, back

from her honeymoon in Dublin. Or was it Paris? Anyway, I was lead into a large

room filled with rough men talking sweet to their wives, exes, sisters and mothers.

Glass windowpanes separated the inmates from the solemn-faced outsiders, who,

to further illustrate the degree of separation, were forced to addressed their loved

ones through old-fashioned telephones. I was assigned the desk that bore my cell

number, somewhere in the far left corner of the room, and told to wait until my

visitor arrived.

I wasnt sure what to tell Gwen. I briefly considered the truth, but decided that

was just a silly idea. I had chosen to live a lie, and now I had to stick to it. There

was no way back. That was my punishment. So Id make up some inane story about

falling in with the wrong crowd. A sad tale of gambling debts, drug dependency and

blackmail. Id make Gwen see how Id been slowly going to the dogs ever since she

left me. Which was true. The story itself would be complete bullshit, of course, but

my sentiments would be genuine at least.On the other side of the windowpane, a tall bearded man in suit and glasses came

marching in my general direction. He seemed oddly out of place here. Confused, I

looked to my right and saw an emaciated Eastern European-looking man with a scar

on his left cheek. On my left sat a large, bald Brit, twitching and talking to himself

in a hushed voice. Surely, this stylish man hadnt come to see these people? He

hadnt, I realized, as he sat himself down in the chair directly opposite me and

picked up the receiver. I took a good, long look at his bespectacled face and

eventually recognized none other than Mr. Al Moncrieff.

He sure had changed. He looked a much older man than I could ever have

imagined. His formerly raven-black hair was steadily greying, as was his feeble

beard. His once so proud eyes looked small and lifeless behind the thick horn-

rimmed glasses. It struck me: Al was beginning to look like Bracknell.

Hello Jack., Al said lazily.


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I picked up the receiver as slowly as I could and replied:

What do you want from me?

Im not sure. What do you want from me?

Hows the company?, I asked.

Its doing fine, thanks.

He hesitated for a second, then said:

You must really hate me now

Not really. Im just a bit confused.

I know. Im sorry., Al said.

Oh, feeling guilty, are we?, I said. How ironic

Look, I got

Did you kill him?, I hissed under my breath.

Why was I whispering? To protect Al?

Bracknell? Yes. Yes I did.

His sang-froid was shocking.

Oh dont give me that look!, he said. He was a sad and lonely old man whom

nobody liked. Whod miss him? No one, thats who!


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My point being: in doing so, we stopped each other from developing into proper

human beings.

I cant believe Im hearing this

It may not have looked that way, but all this time weve just been holding each

other back.

Thats your excuse?! You wanted to be independent, so you scammed me into

prison? Im sorry, but there must have been easier ways of getting rid of me.

The situation called forthorough measures. A fast, clean break-up., Al said.

I see Youre insane, you know that?

Probably. But at least I can be insane on my own now.

You really dont have any regrets about what youve done to me, have you? Or to

Bracknell, for that matter?, I asked.

No no, I havent. Why should I, Jack? Its only the way of the world. Its Darwin.

Only the strong survive. Charity is weakness. In the end, the sly always beat the

gullible. And I didnt want to be on the gullible side anymore. Thats what you

are, Jack, above all things: gullible. If I hadnt screwed you over, someone else

would have. Or youd have done it yourself. It was only a matter of time.,

Well, thank God it was my best friend then who screwed me over in the end

Friendship doesnt mean anything. Its pointless dependency. It weakens you., Al

said.

Though it does get you through the hard times and such., I suggested.


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True., Al said. But, dont you think that, If youd gotten through all those hard

times on your own, youd have come out a lot stronger?

Yes. And lonelier.

Doesnt matter. In the end, we all wind up sad, old and alone.

Well, you have a cheerful life philosophy., I said.

Yours is even bleaker, Jack. At least, I have a sense of hope now, a vague promise

of progress of some sorts. Youve never had that.

That much was true. Id always seen life as some kind of ever-elongating status

quo. Sure, things changed, sometimes for the better, mostly for the worse but,

whatever happened to me, I always seemed to bounce back to a fairly fixed level

of (dis)content. Id never seen this as a particularly bad thing. But I wondered now:

was I really that unhappy? Was I unhappier than Al?

Are you happy?, I asked him.

Imless unhappy than I was., he said, and I believed him.

We sat in silence for a moment, looking at our respective neighbours chatting

away.

You gave me half a million pounds, for the apartment. Where on earth did you

get that?, I asked.

From the company, obviously., Al said.

And no one noticed five hundred grand gone missing?


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Well, I actually kinda sorta took it from the big guys secret little retirement

fund, so the money was never really there to begin with, you see. Bracknell had

already done all the covering-up for me, God rest his putrid soul., Al smiled.

So, why did you come here?, I asked him. Do you want me to forgive you or

something? Because Im not going to.

I know., he said. I just wanted to explain why I did it. I dont expect you to

forgive me, but Id very much like for you to try and understand it, if you can.

Oh, but I do understand, Al. Your ego is even bigger than I thought. It is so large

that it literally blocks out everything else. You are, in essence, a psychopath, set

out to destroy everyone and everything that is not you.

Well, Al said. At least, I have an ego. There is a me, a very definite and

defined me. But there is no you. There has never been a real you, Jack. Youre a

ghost, you hardly exist. You have no ambitions, no fears. You re apathetic.

Catatonic. I mean, look at you: youre in prison for a crime you didnt commit and

you dont even seem to mind! Honestly, I dont know how you live with yourself

Neither do I., I admitted. But somehow I do, and thats fine by me.

Al didnt say anything after that. He looked defeated. Im sure he had plenty things

to say in his defence still, but he too saw now there was no point. We had literarily

nothing to say to each other anymore.

OkayIll be going now., Al said. Think about what I said, okay?

I wont., I replied.

Alright, have it your way, Jack

Just one more thing, I said, just as Al was putting down the receiver.


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Yes?

Cecily and Dorian. Who were they? Were they in on it?

No, they werent., Al smiled. Thought they were playing some kind of birthday

prank. They were actors, Jack. Professional actors hired to fool you. We saw them

in the West End once, actually. The Importance of Being Earnest?

Really?, I said. I hated that play.

Me too., Al grinned.

We shared a wry smile. Then Al stood up and went his separate way. I leaned back

in my hard wooden chair and looked at my neighbours. They were still chatting

away as if their life depended on it. What in Gods name were they talking about, I

wondered. There is so little to say in this world

PUBLISHERS NOTE

Jack Worthing wrote The Bunbury Corporation over the course of several years while

serving a twenty-year prison term in Wandsworth Prison, London. A first attempt to publish

his notorious nouvelle de clef was thwarted by legal authorities on the grounds that it

contained confidential information concerning a murder case and was therefore unfit for

public consumption.

A second, revised edition of The Bunbury Corporation was written, modifying the most

incriminating passages, while leaving the bulk of the story untouched. Naturally, even the

most ill-informed of readers could make out the contours of what had only been Britains

most recently overmediatised murder case. With its not even thinly veiled references to actors

and events still freshly imprinted in the public consciousness, and cleverly sensational


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premise, The Bunbury Corporation was positively condemned to become a nationwidesuccs

de scandale. Which it, as you know, it went on to do with some conviction.

We at Blackwood Publishing, however, would like to stress that our decision to publish The

Bunbury Corporation was entirely unmotivated by its potentially explosive content. When the

manuscript was first offered to us, we with the benefit of our long and illustrious record in

the art of never judging a book by its cover read it with unprejudiced eyes, and saw a neatly

constructed psychological thriller of undeniable literary merit. We were at the time (and still

are) well-aware of the moral implications of publishing a story that sets out to undermine an

actual legal verdict. However, we feel that The Bunbury Corporation, as a work of fiction, has

every right to make its outrageous claims, just as, you the reader, have every right to dismiss

them.

Ours is not the responsibility to pass judgment over Jack Worthings actions, as described in

the novella or, indeed, the verdict of the jury. Consequently, in this matter, we wish to

distance ourselves from believers and non-believers alike and state that, frankly, my dear

reader, we dont give a damn. Whether Jack Worthing killed his employer or was framed

into murder by his best friend, is none of our business. We deal in literature here, not truth,

which, as you know, should never get in the way of a good story. And The Bunbury

Corporation is a good story. But is it true, you ask? Well, I dont know, but, as the Italians

say: Senon vero, ben trovato

Pleasant reading,

L. Smithers

Blackwood Publishing Ltd.

Documents

The Bunbury Corporation