It was open season on old white bigots. The cull used to be bi-annual so on the off-years they could target white collar criminals, but a redrafting of the legislation decided to corral them all together, and really, who could tell the difference?
They were disruptive in every day life, and it had been found that reducing them down benefitted the community at large. Things which needed to be done which these ornery old bastards obstructed like the proverbial immovable objects suddenly became possible.
Lennox had been coming on the shoot for three years now, and he liked to do his killing on Golf Courses. The clubs could not object either, or they would suffer substantial fines for obstruction of the law. There was something a little pathetic about seeing some angry guy wearing stupid golf pants dropping n-bombs as he tried to gun his golf cart over the hill away from the dark-skinned intruder into his rarefied realm. Lennox loved his sawn-off shotgun; it was not a tool for finesse, but it got the job done. These old bastards had no notion of emancipation, equality, or anything to do with anyone that wasn’t rich and white.
For a while they had done anti-social person type roulette – and you were allowed for a day to kill crackers, or KKK members, conspiracy theorists. It got a little complicated proving some of that though, so they looked for the big ones … the people who were really holding the country down.
Lennox was out here today because a special mission had called him. He had recently got his MBA and his scores were off the chart amazing – anyone would have been lucky to hire him, but as soon as he sat down in front of Leonard P. Cumberbatch, he knew what he had on his hands was a bigot.
The question wasn’t how well he had done in school, but where he had gone. Not about what he wanted to do with his life, but where he had come from. An assessment was being made of his background, his parentage, and he could tell from the expression on Cumberbatch’s face that he was coming up short on all accounts.
‘So, imagine if you will,’ said Cumberbatch ‘That you have two interviews on a morning. The first interviewee has a family that can trace it’s ancestors back to the Mayflower, and they have a degree from Harvard Business School, and their father is the owner of a Fortune 500 company. The second interviewee has their degree from an online university, come from, where? The projects? Is that what you call it? And only has work experience in a 711 and a Rent-A-Center. Who would you pick?’
‘The person best suited for the job. I’m qualified – I have proof that I can do what needs to be done to run a business.’
‘Yes, well we won’t get into the merits of the course of study that you took, but you have no pedigree.’
Lennox stared at him. ‘You can’t say this kind of thing in an interview – you can’t be this blatantly racist and expect to get away with it.’
‘Why not? And isn’t my honesty preferable to me putting on some pretence that I am even going to consider hiring someone from your background. I don’t think you researched the kind of company that we are, son.’
‘OK, I understand. I thought there might be one person here that might give me a chance, but I see how it is. One thing though, and you’d do well to remember this – insulting me this close to Open Season was pretty brave of you. A little pretence, some common decency, and some politeness wouldn’t have killed you … even if you hate the thought of employing someone like me.’
‘Are you threatening me?’
‘No, of course not, just reminding you to keep an eye on your calendar.’
And here was that day. A long lunch where lots of hot air was shared between Cumberbatch and his like-minded friends, and then a few rounds of golf with a little bit of betting.
Lennox had been chilling in the sand bunker for most of the morning. With the heat it was like being on a little beach – he reached into his cooler and took out a cool one. The shotgun resting across the cooler dealt with most questions people wanted to ask him. He spotted Cumberbatch in the distance and he found himself salivating at the prospect, maybe even sporting a lazy boner. He’d come out on these shoots before, but he had never felt so invested in them.
The golf cart came close, they got out and Cumberbatch (someone up there liked Lennox) was up first, and wham, he hit it straight into, yeah, you guessed it – the sand bunker. He heard Cumberbatch cuss. The other two member so the party took their shots, and then Cumberbatch made his way to the bunker. When he got there he stood looking incredulously at Lennox.
‘What in the name of hell do you think you’re doing here? This is an exclusive club.’
‘Well, I told you to keep an eye on your calendar. Open Season – it gives me the right to walk into any place where old white bigots hang out, and I can quite legally pick them off and no one can do a thing about.’
‘I intend to have a word with the manager.’
‘Who would have to comply.’
‘Just you wait.’
‘No, you wait. I have the gun. Stay where you are.’
‘You intend to kill me?’
‘Sure, why not? It’s perfectly legal, and despite what you believe it is people like you rather than people like me, with no pedigree, who are this country’s biggest problem. How many other groups have this on their head? No one really wants so many of your sat there like fat leeches sucking all the wealth up and holding back the rate of progress to protect your interests. It’s greedy and it’s unfair.’
‘You can’t kill me in cold blood.’
‘I will give you a fighting chance. Call your friends over.’
‘With a gun pointed at you, you ask a lot of questions.’
Cumberbatch did so. His friends peered into the bunker with the same look of astonishment as he had.
‘Oh my, God,’ said one of them ‘It’s Open Season, and we forgot.’
Lennox smiled. ‘How many of you believe in equal rights for everyone across the board?’
They looked at each other unsure what to do. If one of them raised their hand then the others might follow, but it was like the question had frozen them all. He took that as an answer in and of itself.
‘Well, OK, so, my friends, it is Open Season, which is about hunting, so to be fair I am giving you a ten second head start.’
They all picked up their golf bags and got onto their respective golf carts – it was idiotic, desperate obviously, and very very sad. There was barely any effort as he strolled after them, reloading a couple of times, and then it was done. He called the hotline to report his kill, gave his licence number, and filed a report for the monetary reward. He felt empty – he did not feel satisfied.
He hoped the job interview on Monday went better.
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