Domino

by Chris Barnhart

  "What are you doing here?" the gruff voice made her jump and a little cry escaped her lips. "You'd better move on. There's not much business for your type in this neighborhood."

  "Oh, Lord, no. Please. "I'm not...I need to use a phone. My car..."

  She pointed toward the railroad crossing. The security guard stepped out of the shadows and looked down the road. He holstered his gun and scratched his bald head.

  "Thought I heard something a while ago," he said. "Looks like you had yourself a time. Car break down on the track or something?"

  "Yes, yes it did. Is there a phone I can use?" She could see Marco moving in and out of the shadows and Clarissa could hardly stand still. She wanted to bolt and run but she needed to get inside the building. The guard was still looking at her skeptically. "To call my husband. We were supposed to meet at a party. He'll be worried."

  “You no got no cell?”

  “I..ah.I think it’s still in my car. Probably not much good now.”

  "Alright, come with me."

  The guard led her to a rear door, unlocked it, let her enter the dark corridor ahead of him, and then relocked the door. He pointed to a closed door marked "security office" and pushed it open for her. He reached around and snapped on the light and motioned to a paper littered desk.

  "You can use that phone for a local call. Dial nine first."

  "Thank you." Clarissa sat down in the faded green leather chair, most of which was held together with dirty silver duct tape.

  "I'll be out in the warehouse for a few minutes. It's through that door over there. Just yell when you're finished. I'll let you back out."

  Clarissa sat for a moment and pressed the heels of her palms tight into her eyes. It helped release the tension. She was inside and safe for the moment. Her immediate problem was that she had a phone and no one to call. She could try Hugo’s roommate again but didn’t think that she would get anywhere with that. Dubai, the headquarters of American Oil Co., was not exactly a local number. She had to reach Andrew. She had to find a place to hold up for a few days until her brother could get her a plane ticket. There was only one other person in the city she could call.

  She pulled her cell phone from her purse and thumbed through the contacts then hesitated. Couldn’t they trace her calls if she used it? With all of Morgan’s contacts, could he know she was trying to reach Andrew and stop her before she could get on a plane? She stared at the lifeline in her hand. A lifeline or a direct tracking devise right to her. She was reluctant to toss it in the trash and damn scared to use it. The phone was off but she heard that you could no longer pull out the battery or the SIM card. Even off, Morgan could find a way to track her. Could Marco? The phone suddenly vibrated with an incoming call.

  The phone clattered to the desk and Clarissa’s heart stopped. It was Morgan’s private number. She searched frantically for a place to throw the phone. Then she spotted a paperweight on the desk. It was an onyx globe the size of a fist carved into a bowling ball. Without much thought she brought the ball down as hard as she could on the phone repeatedly until it was smashed. Then she buried it in the trash can next to the desk under the refuse of potato chip bags and empty greasy hamburger and French fry containers. She slumped back into the chair to catch her breath. Smart move or not, now she was truly alone.

  She reached for the land line phone on the desk and started to punch the keypad. Abruptly she hung up. It was too much of a risk. Virginia was too loyal to Morgan. Clarissa ripped off one of her broken acrylic nails that was barely hanging on and dropped it on the floor. She ran the rest of the chipped and broken ones through her hair. She had to go someplace. There was only one thing both she and Virginia had in common. Both hated Marco Camponello. Perhaps that in itself was enough to elicit Virginia's help without her immediately calling Morgan.

  "Make your call yet?" the guard asked as he stuck his head in the office.

  "Line's busy," Clarissa lied.

  “You got AAA? You can have that wreck towed over to Mac’s garage down on Roscoe .If you don’t, cops’ll tow it and then you’re in for a big bill, impounds and all.”

  “I just left a message for my husband,” she lied again. “He’ll take care of it.”

  “Well, you can’t wait for him here. I’m off shift in a few.”

  “That’s alright, thanks. I’ll call a cab.”

  “You can call but you gotta wait outside. Cabs out here can take an hour or more this time of night. Where do you live?" he asked.

  Clarissa hesitated. The man's eyes took in her jewelry at a glance and then met her gaze with stern eyes.

  "Wilshire District," she replied.

  "I get off in about five minutes," he smiled. "I live in Inglewood .It’s just down the 405. I can drop you."

  "No thanks. I'll get a cab."

  "Suit yourself, lady. You got to wait outside then. I gotta lock up."

  Clarissa's stomach turned and her heart pounded. "You sure it wouldn't be too much trouble to drop me off?" she said, and prayed that she wasn't trading Marco for some other kind of peril. She would gladly give the guard the diamonds she was wearing to get away from the hunter outside.

  The guard was true to his word as his battered old white Ford Ranger pickup truck rattled down the alley behind the manufacturing plant and across the railroad tracks where the Jaguar sat with its crushed fender and shattered windows. Clarissa let her handbag slip to the floor then pretended to search for it until they were well past the industrial park. The guard was silent as the night during the half hour ride back over the hill to Los Angeles, and let her off in front of Virginia's high-rise condo. She gave him fifty dollars for his trouble and he took it without so much as a word.

  The soles of her running shoes pounded the rubber runner of the treadmill to the forceful, jarring beat of Cajun music blaring from the speakers. The light gray, sleeveless leotard was soaked with sweat and the cold night breeze that blew in from the open patio door gave Virginia little relief. She had been running full out for over an hour, eyes closed, in deep meditation, her dark hair pulled back away from her face with a red scarf.

  Intensive physical exercise had recently become her one release from the tensions of her life. She had turned the spare bedroom into a gym only a couple of years ago. Morgan had taken her to the emerald mines in Venezuela and she could barely make the climb into the rough hills. Wolfe had belittled her about it so often that she vowed to be in better shape than Morgan by the next such trip. With her lifestyle and job it was not practical to join a gym so she created one.

  She went about getting in top physical shape with an intensity that surprised her. Her arms and legs were well muscled from the weight and stair machines. She cared nothing for the body building aspects of her training, she wanted to be strong. Physical strength was a quality in people that Morgan much admired. Any kind of weakness he detested.

  Virginia turned off the machine and took a long drink from the spring water in the plastic sport bottle. She grabbed a towel and went out onto the patio to dry off. The traffic, seven stories below on Wilshire Boulevard, was light for a Friday night. The air was heavy and still, a prelude to a storm. They were not unknown in Los Angeles in mid-autumn and Virginia loved the violent display of nature. Morgan was like a thunderstorm. Wild and powerful, full of lightning quickness, with a billowing charm hiding the dark underside of the real deluge of the storm itself.

  Two more months at the most. By then Clarissa Hayden would be history and Virginia would have Morgan to herself for that brief span of time between his loves. She gripped the balcony railing with both hands and waited until the anger mixed with passion subsided. She hated Morgan Wolfe because he was the only man she had ever loved. Ever could love. He held her by that one chain, feeding her scraps of passion like throwing a crust of bread to a starving man. He gave her just enough to survive, while he made her watch him eat a full meal. Then the torture of another crust of bread until the next feast.

  She could not break away and
he knew it. She did not have the strength to break the feelings within her. Her hate welled up again and filled her eyes with tears. Two more months. They would be together but he would use her as he always had. He never looked at her the way he looked at Clarissa or the others, or caressed her with the tenderness for which she so longed. The diamonds would never be hers to wear, Morgan would never be in love with her. The pain of it convulsed her body as the Cajun music inside came to an abrupt end.

  In the sudden stillness she screamed curses and damned Morgan Wolfe. Her cries echoed down the canyon walls of the high-rise condominiums lining the street.

  Virginia gave in to the exhaustion from her workout and the despair in her heart. Her leg muscles felt thick and weak and she held onto the balcony railing inhaling deeply until the prickling madness of the anxiety attack subsided. She slammed the towel into a hamper in the corner of the gym and peeled off the leotard, adding it to the hamper. In the bathroom, she ran the shower as hot as she could stand it. The stinging spray pulsed against her flesh and she steeled herself against the almost unbearable sensation for a moment longer than she could tolerate. Strength. She had mastered the physical and the mental, but the emotional strength to walk away from Morgan Wolfe was still illusive. She hated more than Morgan, that weakness in herself.

  Virginia had just tied the jade green silk robe around her when the intercom buzzer startled her. It was nearly eleven o'clock. She did not like to admit anyone in the evenings. There had been those rare occasions when Morgan would show up unexpectedly and she wanted to be alone if he should want her. He never buzzed or knocked.

  "Yes?" she said hesitantly into the wall speaker.

  "Virginia, it's Clarissa," the voice outside was weak and tearful. "Please, let me in."

  "Clarissa?" Virginia tried to hide the anger from her voice. She could never be sure that Morgan hadn't sent Clarissa to her for some unimportant errand. Morgan never called first. Morgan would never be that courteous to his private secretary. Virginia smothered the indignation. "Is something wrong?"

  "Please, just let me come in," Clarissa begged. "Please."

  Morgan hadn't sent her. Virginia was certain. This was something else. Clarissa had probably wrecked the car or something and didn't want to face Morgan. Well, she could just take her licks.

  "It's late and I'm busy right now."

  "Please, Virginia, I have to talk to you. It's an emergency."

  There was a long silence. Logic fought its way through Virginia's hostility. If Clarissa did have a minor problem and it got back to Morgan that she didn't help her, Virginia would be the one to feel his wrath. Reluctantly, Virginia pushed the button that opened the downstairs security door.

  "Come up then. You remember where it is? Seventh floor. Number seven twelve."

  Clarissa almost screamed with relief when the buzzer went off and the glass door yielded under her weight. The city had become an alien wilderness with one danger, Marco Camponello. Her luck to escape him twice had held, but that luck could not hold out much longer.

  Already the terrifying suicide run toward the train seemed hours ago. As she got into the oak paneled elevator car Clarissa shuddered at the narrow escape. She had wanted to die then, at that moment, rather than at the hands of Marco. There had been no way out, no solution, no exit. There was just the massive hulk of the engine, the gunshots and the blown tire, the train barreling down on her, filling the Jag's windshield. She remembered losing control of the steering wheel and the car spinning wildly. There was empty track and dark buildings and Marco standing up in the Cadillac. Then around again toward the approaching train engine, the one brilliant light illuminating the interior of the car, blinding Clarissa for a second, then darkness again.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and steeled herself against the final impact. The train whistle scorched her ears, and she let go of the steering wheel to clamp her hands over them. Her body vibrated with the thundering on the tracks and was suddenly jolted and thrown hard against the door. There was a scream of tearing metal and the sharp crack of splitting wood, and a renewed sensation of spinning. Then stillness and the clattering of the freight cars passing.

  Clarissa jolted awake as the elevator doors slid silently open.

  Virginia took a deep breath, controlled her hostility, and pulled open the front door. Her face remained a mask of indifference but inside she was grinning. Clarissa looked a mess. There was a welt on her cheek, her makeup was smeared as if she'd been crying, her black cocktail dress was wrinkled and torn at the hem, and she was missing a couple of acrylic nails. Whatever she had been doing, Morgan was going to be in a rage. Virginia stepped aside and Clarissa entered the spacious living room.

  "Sit down, please," Virginia invited. "Tell me what happened."

  The decor was overstuffed Southwestern in pastels, with Western Indian art on the walls. A feathered Cree prayer wheel, done in tan suede and heavily beaded, dominated the front of the rock fireplace.

  Clarissa sat on the edge of the sofa, nervous and looking over her shoulder as if she half expected Marco or Alex to be hiding in the bedroom. Virginia curled herself up on an overstuffed armless chair, tucking her feet under her and stared at Clarissa for what seemed to be an eternity. When she spoke, her voice betrayed none of the cynicism and contempt that she felt. She was once again in the role of Morgan Wolfe's perfect executive secretary.

  "So did you lovers have a spat?"

  "Morgan tried to kill me," Clarissa ventured carefully, waiting and searching Virginia's face for a reaction. There was none.

  "I see," was her dead reply. "Would you like some herb tea, Clarissa?"

  "He tried to kill me."

  "What did he do, smack you? Not that you don't deserve a good spanking. What was this fight about? You didn't like the necklace?"

  Clarissa took a firm hold on her anger and met Virginia's cold eyes. She had never met a woman so distant, ice-like, and insensitive. Virginia had a classic beauty and grace that Clarissa envied. She could see the Indian heritage in Virginia's high cheekbones and raven hair, mixed with creamy smooth skin and Irish green eyes. There was a deadly calm about the secretary, unruffled and efficient. One would have to be that way to work for someone as demanding as Morgan Wolfe and Virginia had lasted ten years.

  "We didn't fight," said Clarissa.

  "Well, Morgan can be difficult at times," Virginia replied. "My advice is to go home and make up. That's the best part of a relationship. Making up."

  "He killed a man tonight," Clarissa said quietly. "I saw it from my bedroom window."

  Virginia's face remained a mask of indifference but she was very quiet for long moment. She had no reason to doubt Clarissa. The pain and fear in her amber eyes were proof enough. The fact that she had eluded Morgan this long and stayed alive was a testimony to this girl's tenacity or just blind luck. Virginia smiled through iron eyes, a veiled smile that was lost to Clarissa. Morgan had blundered. He had let a witness escape. Morgan rarely made such a mistake. His hands were always clean. Virginia's mind reeled with the possibilities.

  "Tell me everything," she demanded.

  "Marco shot and killed Byron Roth," Clarissa began. "The art gallery owner."

  "Who else was there?"

  "Morgan, Marco and Alex Rogers," Clarissa explained.

  "And you, Clarissa?"

  "I had nothing to do with it," said Clarissa angrily. "The Mercedes wouldn't start. I went back into house for the keys."

  "You couldn't get back inside," said Virginia. "Morgan secures the house before his business meetings. No one gets inside until he's done. No one ever has. I think you're lying to me."

  "I swear to you I'm not. All of the doors were locked except for the French doors to Morgan's office. It was locked but not shut all the way."

  "There's an alarm on that door," Virginia probed. "How did you get past that?"

  "There was no alarm," Clarissa protested. "I just walked into the office. There was no sound, no noise, nothing."


  "It's silent," said Virginia. "Shows up on the monitors in the security office out back. Go on, what happened next?"

  "I couldn't find the Jaguar keys in Morgan's desk so I went up to the bedroom. I found them on Morgan's bureau. I turned out the bedroom light and was about to go back downstairs when I heard a terrible fight coming from the pool area. I went to the window and saw.....I saw Morgan order Marco to shoot...."

  Virginia handed Clarissa a box of tissues from a drawer in one of the low end tables.

  "You actually heard Morgan tell Marco to shoot Byron Roth?" Virginia asked.

  "Yes," Clarissa fought for composure. She did not intend to tell Virginia every detail but she couldn't help herself. It came pouring out of her as if released by flood gates. She needed to talk, to rid herself of the pent up terror of the past several hours. It was a tremendous risk even coming here. The fact that she was here jeopardized her life. It would do her no good to hold back now. She had to trust that once Virginia knew what kind of a monster she worked for, that she would help Clarissa.

  "So Marco did the hit, then what?"

  "Morgan looked up and saw me in the window," Clarissa's lip quivered. "I had left the hall light on. That was stupid. I was so damn stupid."

  She let the tears flow, not ashamed to cry in front of Virginia. Clarissa needed a clear head to stay alive and the more she talked and released emotions, the calmer she became. Virginia had not moved or made comments except to fold and unfold her arms across her chest and stare at Clarissa with varying degrees of intensity.

  "How did you get out of the house?"

  Clarissa told her in detail how she had hid from Morgan, her escape from the guest room, and how she crashed the Jaguar into the train to try to kill herself rather than let Marco have her. Virginia listened expressionlessly. When Clarissa finished, Virginia excused herself, saying they both needed herb tea. Clarissa was left alone while Virginia was busy in the kitchen.