by Don Bruns
He walked to the concrete wall and slammed his fist against it. “Ouch.”
“James, we’ve got to go to work.”
“Knowing that Feng tried to kill us last night. Do you think it’s safe to ever go back there?”
“He’s not going to kill us at work.”
“Skip, I wouldn’t be surprised at anything that happened after last night.” He spit on the concrete and opened the door.
“Born in the U.S.A.” blared from my phone. I didn’t even look at the number. Anyone who called was probably trouble.
“Skip, are you there?”
“Yeah, Michael. What’s up.” I felt whatever energy I had start to drain.
“Listen, Skip, we’ve got a bit of a problem.”
I wanted to tell him he had no idea how big our problem was, but I waited for him to tell me his “bit of a problem.”
“Top guy says no-go on the hookup until we get our money.”
I’d seen it coming. I wasn’t totally ready for it, thinking that maybe there would be a last minute save, but I’d seen it coming. “You haven’t gotten the down payment, right? She was supposed to send it, Michael.”
“That’s why you’re my top guy, Skip.” Sarcasm was creeping into his voice. “You’re so good at figuring these things out.”
I wanted to go right through the phone and strangle him. “I’m going in to Sandy Conroy’s office this morning, Michael. I’ll confront him and get at least half the money. Can we turn it on for half the money?”
“You get half and I’ll see what I can do, Skip. I’ll see, okay?” He waited for an answer I never gave him.
I flipped the phone closed. Conroy didn’t know what we knew. He didn’t have a clue. He was still playing it straight up, like everything was okay. Maybe he’d give me the down payment. Maybe he’d give me the entire amount. Sure, this was doable. Sandy Conroy wanted everyone to assume that it was business as usual. He wanted to be the upstanding businessman. Therefore he’d pay the bill. If he paid the bill, then everything would appear to be all right. And right now, just before all hell broke loose, Conroy needed things to appear to be all right. Right? This was going to work out. I was convinced. For that moment.
“I’m going in for the money, James.” James was no longer there. He’d gone inside to take a shower, get dressed for work, take a powder. Whatever it was, he’d left me on the porch by myself. “I’m going to walk into Conroy’s office and walk out with a check,” I yelled through the back door. Damn the neighbors. I was working my ass off, almost getting killed in the process, and somebody was going to pay me for my time.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
James drove the truck. Minus the Water Connection signs. We’d left early enough that last night’s caller was probably unaware I’d stripped the signs from the doors. James just shrugged his shoulder and tossed the rolled up vinyl on the floor.
“What are you going to say, pard?”
“That we’ve done the work and haven’t been paid.”
“Sarah was supposed to—”
“Forget Sarah. Remember? She’s going to be the first one they throw under the bus.” I had no idea where that statement started, but it seemed to fit.
“We could tell her.”
“Yeah. That’s exactly what we want to do. Tell the hooker that she’s going to be betrayed. Listen, James, I want my money. We’re—I’m walking a very thin line here. I still stand to make a lot of money. I’m not giving up on that dream. You, James, you screw it up and I’ll make your life miserable.”
“Screw it up?”
“Yeah. Get a moment of moral superiority and tell Sarah? Or mention this to someone else.”
“Amigo—”
“Don’t amigo me.”
“You’re my roommate, Skip.”
“Yeah?”
“My best friend.”
“Thanks, man.” I softened.
“No, what I’m saying is that you hired me for this job.”
“I did.”
“You got me into this mess.”
I had no comeback.
“And ever since we’ve been working for Synco Systems, my life has been miserable, so how is this going to change things?”
I refrained from slugging him.
We arrived fifteen minutes early. I didn’t see the yellow sports car, but then again I’d never seen it any other morning. Maybe he parked it in a private spot.
“There’s one good thing about today, pard.”
“Name one thing, James. I’d love to hear it.”
“It’s Friday.”
“Yeah?”
“Date night.”
“Ah, yes, the lovely Eden Callahan.”
“Who knows, man?”
“I hope she doesn’t bring the tear gas and the gun.”
“Handcuffs maybe.” He grinned. We got out of the truck.
Sarah met us at the door in a short, silver skirt and scarlet blouse. “He’s not in a good mood, guys.” She wore a fragile frown.
“Something we did?”
“Something about a smoke detector? And it appears that someone hacked his computer last night.”
My chest tightened up, and I had trouble catching the next breath. I just didn’t think that was going to happen.
“How do you do that?” James asked. His nervousness was apparent. “How would anyone hack Mr. Conroy’s computer?”
“Well, I’m not sure, but I know that he called me in this morning, and—” I detected the tremor in her voice, “and he showed me the screen. He said there was a record of the sites that were visited and he asked me if I’d been—” she sniffed and I knew right away she was going to cry. “Oh, God, Skip. I wouldn’t know how to hack anyone’s computer.” Tears rolled down her cheeks, and I felt about as low as I could. Not low enough to admit that I’d hacked it, but almost that low.
“Hey, I’m sorry. The guy can apparently be a jerk, huh?” I took a tentative step toward her and gave her a hug, feeling her softness press into me. At that moment she felt very tender and frail.
“You know who I think used his computer?” Wiping her face with her hand, she pushed off me and stared into my eyes. Then she shifted to James.
“Maybe we don’t want to know.”
“Oh, I think you should know.” She sniffed, and with her delicate condition it was hard to picture this creature as a call girl.
“Sarah, this isn’t any of our business.” James took a step back.
My dream of getting paid today was fading fast. Conroy was not a happy camper. We’d missed something last night. Some way to erase our activity on his computer. Sooner or later he’d figure it out. Sooner or later he’d realize that I had access last night. And there wasn’t any feeble excuse I could think of to lie my way out of this. “Okay, who do you think used his computer?”
“The bitch. His high-and-mighty wife.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Somebody saw her here last night. Early this morning.”
Oh, man. If they saw her they probably saw us. “Who?”
“Follow me, Skip.”
“Where are we going?”
“No. Follow my story. Sandy came in this morning and said his computer had been hacked.”
“Okay.”
“He tried to figure out who had access, and for some reason he thought of me. Me, Skip. And he knows how I feel about him.”
“And you just told me you’d never do that.”
“That’s right. And he said if it wasn’t me, then maybe it was Carol. He drove by last night and thought he saw her walking by the building.”
“What?” James was giving her a very strange look. I tried to ward him off, giving him a “safe” sign with my hands.
“Maybe she went into the building and got into his computer. I think she did.”
I felt certain that Carol Conroy was setting Sandy and Sarah up for a hard landing. She was planning on getting $75,000,000 and leaving the two of them and Feng to take
the fall. I couldn’t even fathom the depth of deception. But here was Sandy Conroy trying to blame his wife for rifling through his files.
“Sarah, do you think he’s right? I mean, she’s his wife.”
I wanted him to shut up. Let the “bitch” suffer the consequences. It was okay with me, because I didn’t want any blame.
Sarah shrugged her shoulders. “Anyway,” she said, “the wicked witch is in his office right now, and I’m sure it’s not pleasant.” Sarah wiped her eyes, reached out and squeezed my hand, then walked back to her office. I stood there with my mouth hanging open.
“Dude, deception is the point! Any man can counter strength. But now he has to counter what he can’t see.” I thought he was done as he paused, but I was wrong. “And fear what he doesn’t know.” He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet.
I stared at him. “What the hell are you saying?”
“It’s from The 13th Warrior, Skip.”
“Yeah?”
“I love that quote.”
“What does it mean?”
James squinted and stroked his chin. “Doesn’t it sort of fit this situation?”
“I asked you before, what does it mean?”
“I have no idea, Skip. No idea. I’ve just been waiting for an excuse to use it.”
Walking past him, I headed for Conroy’s door, full of bluff and bravado. I didn’t believe I could actually pull it off, but if I didn’t confront him now, I’d never get it done.
Feng appeared from nowhere, holding up his hand like a Gestapo officer, and stopped me as I entered the work area.
“Mr. Moore.” He put his hand on my arm, and I shook him off.
“Don’t touch me, Feng.”
Giving me a wry smile he took a step back. “Speaking of touch, you’re a little touchy today yourself.”
“Somebody fires a gun into your home, you tend to be a little off your game.”
“Someone fired a gun into your home?”
“I feel certain you know about that incident.”
“As a matter of fact, I don’t. But let me assure you, if you proceed to Mr. Conroy’s office, your situation won’t get any better.” He crossed his arms, and puffed out his chest. “Whatever you think happened, things could be a lot worse.”
I wasn’t going to talk about it. Play it cool. But I was building a head of steam and this little guy was just the beginning. “How could they get worse, Feng? When someone in a car that looks like yours tried to kill me?”
Feng’s eyes shifted, over my shoulder. “A car that looked like mine?”
“Where were you last night, Feng?” I was way off course. Just get the money, just get the money.
“Mr. Moore, Mr. Conroy is busy. Whatever your problem, it will have to wait.”
“I’m going to see Conroy right now.”
“Oh?”
“If your company doesn’t pay my company the money you owe us, you’ll never get your system turned on.” I was in charge. The Person in Charge of the Project. No one seemed to respect that position.
“You’re threatening to halt the project?”
I hadn’t exactly talked to Wireman about it yet, but Michael had threatened me. I was just passing on the information. Person in charge and all that. “You heard me.”
“Let me understand this.” Feng hooked his thumbs in his belt. “You were shot at last night?”
“I was.”
“And on an unrelated note, you feel someone owes you money?”
I was breathing fast and heavy. “I do. My company does.”
“And you are threatening us with not completing the job if someone doesn’t pay you?”
“You’re brighter than I gave you credit for, Feng.”
“I really am. You’d be surprised.”
I thought of the little guy chasing around a UPS truck with our GPS unit under it.
“The accuracy of the shooter must have been poor.”
“What does that mean?” He was back to the sniper.
“The next time, the assassin who planned your execution should hire someone who has a higher degree of accuracy.”
Feng had pretty much told me that the intent was to kill me. I didn’t know how to deal with that. I brushed past him, half expecting him to draw the pistol from his belt holster. Reaching Conroy’s door, I rapped on the solid wood. Once, twice, three times. The son of a bitch wasn’t in. Or, he wasn’t answering.
I glanced behind me and Feng stood there, his right hand now resting on the butt of his gun.
“Mr. Conroy,” I shouted.
“Mr. Moore, I’m asking you to move.” Feng was seething.
Once again I pounded on the door, finally slapping it with the heel of my hand. There was going to be a bruise there tomorrow. The door flew open and I took a big step back, staggering as Carol Conroy rushed out, looking neither right or left. Spinning around, she stared back into the office and calmly said, “Oh, you’ll give them to me. Yes, you will. Today. Or so help me God, I will bury you.” She blew by me like a hurricane, and before I could think, she was through the work area and into the hall on her way out.
We had already decided she was going to bury him. Now she was making it public. It sounded to me like Sandy Conroy had the codes, and if he did, this thing was going to go down quickly. If James and I were right, Carol Conroy was going to sabotage her daddy’s company and take Sarah and possibly her husband down with it.
When I stepped into the doorway, Sandy Conroy was standing behind his desk, pointing his finger directly at me.
“Get the hell out of here, kid. Now.” Fire shot from his eyes, but couldn’t melt the cold, icy tone of his voice.
I ran back past a table of lab-coated technicians, past James who was standing in the hall with his mouth wide open, and into the lobby where Carol Conroy was exiting the building. Feng had magically disappeared.
I almost ran over Eden Callahan, who started to say something to me, and I pushed open a glass door. She’d only exited seconds ago, but there was no sign of Carol Conroy. There was no sign of a living person in the parking lot. No people, no traffic this morning, just the desolation that is always Carol City. Eerie, depressingly quiet. And then I saw her.
Her head was bobbing, five, six rows away. Her Lexus must be up ahead. I yelled. “Mrs. Conroy.” She never looked up.
I heard an engine roar, breaking the solitude, and saw the car come out of nowhere, streaking down the strip of pavement. As I ran down across the asphalt, between the parked cars I heard the sickening thump and watched her body fly into the air, up over the hood and bounce off the top of the car. I kept running, my lungs burning like the fires in hell.
Now I was in the lane as she rolled on the pavement, and I hoped it wasn’t too late. Her body lay in a crazy, twisted heap. Up ahead the automobile had braked to a screeching halt, the driver realizing that he, she, had hit the woman. I stopped, leaned against a Dodge Viper, and gulped in large mouthfuls of air.
It was then I saw the tail lights flash on and the car went into reverse, gaining speed by the millisecond. I jogged toward the broken body as the auto streaked toward me. At the last second, I dropped, banging my shoulder and feeling the hot asphalt burn my bare arms and face. Rolling hard to my right, I ended up under the nearest vehicle, a Chevy Silverado. I worried about my heart as it banged in my chest, trying to get out. It was the second time I’d been under a vehicle in this same parking lot in the last week. It was the tenth time, twentieth time, thirtieth time my heart had scared me almost to death.
I wish I’d been blinded to the view of what happened, but I wasn’t. I stared out as the gray Honda Accord, swerving back and forth in reverse gear, hit Carol Conroy’s lifeless frame with a bump, crushing her legs and chest. Rolling over the cadaver, the Accord switched gears, and roared out of the parking lot. Everything went silent, and it was as if life went on. Only it didn’t.
I shuddered, rolling out and running back to the building, bursting in and gasping fo
r air.
“Call nine one one. Now. Carol Conroy’s been in a serious accident.” Serious accident? “She’s been killed.”
The girl behind the desk, Daliah or something like that, dropped the magazine she’d been reading, and punched in a number as I grabbed the reception counter and tried to catch my breath. She spoke briefly as I huffed and puffed. Serious huffing and very serious puffing.
“Moore.”
I looked up and Feng was standing there. “Suppose you tell me what happened.”
Between gasps I said, “Suppose you tell me what happened.”
“You told Daliah to call nine one one?”
I couldn’t talk. There wasn’t enough oxygen in the room, hell, not enough oxygen in the world, to fill my lungs. Breathing heavily, I leaned against the receptionist’s counter.
“Moore. Tell me what happened.”
“I,” gasping, “just,” taking two huge lungfuls of air “saw you.”
“You saw me?”
“I saw you,” breath, breath, breath, “run over Carol Conroy with your car.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
James was in office five, splicing a wire connection.
“Drop it pal. This project isn’t going anywhere right now.”
“Bro, I’ve got about ten minutes here and I’ll have the—”
“Drop it.” I screamed at him, and he stepped down from the ladder. Without looking back, I strode from the room, knowing he was right behind me. I was the person in charge of this project and people had better start paying attention.
Through the work area, through the hallway, and into the lobby. Daliah was on the phone, talking fast and furiously. “Yes. Her body is still there. No. Wait, there’s another call. Hello? Yes. We’re off of a Hundred Seventy-Second Street. Please hold. Hello? No, she’s,” Daliah paused, “she’s dead.”