Simon Wood

by Accidents Waiting to Happen

  "Yeah. I thought I would."

  "Do you want breakfast now or when you get back?"

  "I'll eat when I get back."

  "How far do you think you'll go?"

  "I might try a longer one, six miles or so, to make up for slacking, but I'll see how I go." Josh looked up as he tied his shoes.

  "It'll do you good to get out and do something."

  He saw Kate was pleased to see him settling back into old routines. She probably hoped it was a sign their lives were returning to normal.

  "I'll see you later." Josh gave his wife a kiss and slipped out the front door.

  It was after nine and the daily commuters from Josh's neighborhood had already left for their jobs. He ran in the relative comfort of being free of thoughtless motorists. It was a good time to run.

  Sweat displayed itself on his clothes and face. The morning was cool, but there was warmth from the sun unhindered by sparse clouds. Dark rings stained his gray sweatshirt under the arms and around the neck.

  His matching pants showed an unflattering dark line between the buttocks. Perspiration glistened on Josh's flushed face and hung in beads from his black hair like melting icicles. He hadn't intended to push himself that hard. His mind had been elsewhere. It had been fixed on Bell. She hadn't called since she'd turned informer to Channel Three. If she wouldn't come to him, then he'd go to her.

  Instead of running his usual route, a circuit of the horseshoe shaped Pocket neighborhood, he jogged the roads that took him northward toward downtown. His Adidas-shod feet beat a path to Belinda Wong's new Sacramento home. The bitch had the audacity to give her address and telephone number to Kate at the barbecue.

  His anger drove him to run even harder.

  He came to a gradual halt outside the small ranch style house. It was a corner plot and still had the for sale sign outside that hung from a post buried in the lawn close to the sidewalk. Bent over with his hands on his knees, he panted heavily. Sweat fell from his forehead and hair, the droplets splashing on the sidewalk.

  He crossed the short path to the front door and pressed the doorbell. No one answered. He pressed the doorbell again. This time he kept his finger on the button, which made the chimes drone tunelessly. He heard movement and took his finger off the bell. He disliked its sound as much as the person who moved unhappily inside the house did.

  The door opened and Josh didn't wait to be invited inside. He barged in, knocking the door from the occupant's hand. If she could barge her way into his home uninvited, then he could do the same to her.

  "Good morning, Josh. You found me. Thanks for the wake-up call." Bell showed no sign of annoyance at the abrupt entry. In fact, she smiled.

  Josh looked about him, staring at the starkly furnished living room. "I suppose my money went to buy this place," he said.

  Bell looked at him approvingly. She closed the door and leaned against it with her arms crossed over her electric blue silk robe. "Don't flatter yourself--you didn't give me that much money. No, I have a friend who's a realtor and I'm staying here while they sell it.

  It's a repo from a family that couldn't keep up with the payments. They just couldn't keep up with the changing pace of life."

  "Is that last remark supposed to mean anything?"

  "Read into it whatever you want."

  Not waiting for a response, she walked into the kitchen, retying the belt to her robe as she went. Her feet made sticking noises on the vinyl floor. She filled the coffeemaker with water and grounds before switching it on. "Do you want coffee?"

  Josh followed her into the kitchen and stood against the sink behind her. "No, I'm not here for a social visit."

  "Shame," she said.

  She stood on tiptoe to retrieve a mug from the cupboard in front of her. The robe climbed up the backs of her thighs to expose more of her slender legs. The material clung to Bell's stretching body. It accentuated her waist and buttocks hidden beneath the rich blue silk, becoming nothing more than a second skin. Josh's gaze crawled over her body--its structure, proportions and form. Her body moved gracefully, almost in a dance, all so very enticing. Once. She removed the mug and placed it on the counter next to the coffeemaker.

  "Still attracted to me, Josh? Still want to fuck me, Josh? You can if you want." Her back still faced him.

  The remarks took him by surprise. She knew him so well. He cursed himself for still being caught by her stupid games. Nothing about Bell was innocent. Everything she did was carefully calculated. She was tempting him. She knew he'd look, and look lustfully. She knew exactly how to pull his strings. But that was then and this was now. He was no longer her plaything. He was cutting the strings. "No thanks. Like I said, I'm not here to socialize."

  Bell turned around to face him and met him with a grin. She pulled the sides of the robe apart, exposing her small firm breasts and erect nipples. Leaning against the work surface, she slid her right leg up her left and the flimsy cloth fell from her smooth legs, exposing her completely. "Are you sure? Are you sure I can't offer you something from the dessert cart?"

  The coffeemaker coughed and spluttered as boiling water dropped onto the grounds. Steam rose through the vents and a rising cloud appeared from behind Bell's head.

  Josh ignored Bell's offer, but not her exposed body.

  He cast a glance over what his senses had already experienced, then looked Bell in the eye. "I'm here about the latest television scoop on Channel Three."

  She blurted out a laugh. She lowered her leg to the floor and her naked body disappeared behind the curtains of swaying silk. She wrapped the robe around her and retied it. "Is there more sweat on your brow than I remember seeing earlier, Josh?"

  "Channel Three, last night. Was that you?"

  "What do you mean? Is your past coming back to bite you in the ass?"

  "You know exactly what I mean..

  "Well, I cannot tell a lie. Yes, it was me."

  "Why? I paid you."

  Bell dropped the smile in favor of a sneer. "Yeah, but you thought you could push me around. So I thought I would apply a little pressure to ensure you don't do something stupid again."

  "So, what's the next step, leak them my name?"

  "No, you keep your end up and I'll make sure that they don't find out any more."

  Josh knew that one day the money would dry up. It wasn't far off. "But what happens when I can't?"

  She leered. "What do you think will happen?"

  "So be it. If you're going to skewer me, it might as well be sooner than later. Go to hell. I'm not paying you anymore."

  Bell looked as if he'd slapped her. "How dare you speak to me like that."

  Josh was in no mood to listen to a tirade, and headed back to the front door. He ignored the expletives that followed him.

  He opened the front door, but stopped in the doorway.

  "Here's the deal, Bell. I'm willing to give you a one-off payment that will buy your silence for good.

  After that, I never want to hear from you again. Let me know your answer in your own time."

  She followed Josh out into the front yard. Her response mostly never graduated higher than four-letter words. "You'll be sorry, Josh."

  Josh didn't know if he would, but he felt good. He liked pushing people who pushed him. He broke into a jog.

  Bell shouted after him from the lawn. Her threats soon lagged behind his pace somewhere in the distance.

  Josh's run back home invigorated him. He felt stronger and more positive than he had in some time.

  Finally, he'd taken some control of the situation with Bell. She would no longer screw him up. He'd tipped the balance of power in his favor. Not even the notion that Bell could go straight to the media with his part in the Mountain Vista Apartments scandal could dampen his spirits. His inner strength came from the ability to bring closure to the subject. He no longer had to hide behind a wall of cash to keep the truth from coming out. He would take his chances and deal with whatever consequences arose.

  Josh
sprinted the last hundred yards to his home and shaved five minutes off the two and a half miles from Bell's. Although sweat ran down his body and he breathed like an asthmatic wood saw, he felt good. Josh took the key from his zipped pants pocket and opened the door.

  "I'm back," he called out to anyone who would listen.

  Not waiting for anyone to answer, he started pulling off his sweatshirt and made his way to the bathroom to shower. He had the sweatshirt over his head and one foot on the first stair when he was called back.

  "Josh," Kate said.

  He had completely pulled the aptly named sweatshirt over his head but still had his arms through the sleeves as he turned to face his wife. She sat on the couch in the living room with Abby and Wiener. The image reminded him of Russian dolls. Each doll removed from inside the others and stacked in descending order of size--Kate, Abby and Wiener. Like the dolls, the three of them possessed the same blank looks. The policemen from the hospital, Officers Brady and Williams, stood adjacent to his family in front of the fireplace.

  Josh had been blind to the patrol car parked curbside outside his house.

  "Oh, hi, I didn't see you there," Josh said.

  The policemen nodded in acknowledgment.

  "Please excuse my condition. I'll just have a quick shower and I'll be with you." Josh smiled.

  Nobody returned the smile.

  "If you could be quick, sir. We have some details to go over with you and we do have other calls to make,"

  Officer Brady said.

  "Of course. I'll only be a minute." Josh shot up the stairs. He hoped they had good news about finding evidence on Mitchell, but judging by the look on everyone's faces, it didn't look like good news. He had no idea what else could have gone wrong.

  Josh showered and dried himself swiftly, but not thoroughly. The T-shirt soaked up the damp patches from his body and a dark ring of wetness showed on his neck from where his hair had dripped. The jersey shorts did a similar drying job to his lower half. Barefoot, he returned to the living room. The two police officers were sitting on the couch opposite his wife. The room was in silence.

  "Sorry to keep you waiting," Josh said.

  "Not a problem, sir," Officer Williams said.

  Josh sat on the arm of the couch next to Kate. "So you got my phone call?"

  "Josh," Kate said, and placed a hand on his arm.

  "Could we go somewhere a little more private? I prefer not to discuss this in front of your family," Officer Brady said.

  Kate squeezed his arm. Josh looked at her and saw fear in her eyes. She nodded at him.

  "We could go into my office," Josh suggested.

  "Sounds fine," Officer Williams said.

  Josh led the policemen to the small office toward the rear of the house. The policemen's boots squeaked on the hardwood floor. The way they walked on either side of him made him feel like the proverbial dead man walking, being led to execution.

  Josh sat at his desk. The two officers bulged from the amply filled loveseat on the opposite wall. He asked the policemen if they wanted a beverage. They declined his offer.

  "So you received my phone call at the beginning of the week about the man who ran me into the river?

  Well, like I said, I met--"

  "Mr. Michaels, we aren't here about the traffic accident,"

  Brady interrupted.

  Josh was confused. "Then why are you here?"

  "We're here regarding the threatening phone calls you made from this house," Brady said, and started to read Josh his Miranda rights.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  "What?" Josh's feel-good high drained out of him and a tingle of fear ran down his spine. He shifted in his seat. It no longer seemed to fit the contours of his body.

  He struggled for words to respond. Panic and guilt swam through his mind, bumping into things. Had Bell made some trumped-up accusation against him about their phone call? Could she have recorded their phone call? He couldn't remember if he'd said anything that could be construed as threatening. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "Margaret Macey alleged she received a threatening phone call. One in which a man claiming to be from an insurance company became abusive and made threats on her life," Williams said, reading from his notes.

  Hearing the name, Josh relaxed. The name meant nothing. Whoever made the call, it had nothing to do with his problems.

  "What can you tell us, Mr. Michaels?" Brady asked.

  "Nothing. I have no idea what you're talking about."

  The policemen didn't look as if they were going to accept Josh's denial as a defense. Brady eyeballed Josh with a stare hard enough to crack concrete. Josh felt the man didn't believe a word he'd said from the moment they'd met.

  Brady sighed, "Mr. Michaels, you are the only male in the house."

  "Yes."

  "Then I find it difficult to accept you couldn't have made the call," Brady said.

  "Why? I've never heard of this woman."

  Josh showed signs of guilt. More than just water from his shower moistened his clothes--sweat appeared under his arms. He didn't know the woman, so why did he feel so damn guilty? His palms were sweating and he wiped them on his shorts under the cover of the desk, but fresh sweat immediately sprang from his dryed palms.

  "Telephone records tell us the call was made from this house."

  Brady leaned forward, placing more weight on his accusation. It was a cheap intimidation tactic and it worked. Josh felt a noose tightening around his neck.

  "So how do you explain who made the phone call from here?"

  "I don't know what to tell you. Honestly, I don't know anything. Maybe I misdialed her number and she's confusing it with her threatening caller."

  "A fifteen minute wrong number conversation?"

  Brady said. "I don't think so, Mr. Michaels. Your call was the only one she received on Saturday night."

  "Saturday night?" Josh's panic dissipated.

  "Yes, Saturday night. Can you tell us what you were doing from seven forty-two p.m. until seven fifty-seven p.m.?" Williams asked.

  "I was having a birthday party," Josh said.

  here?" Brady asked.

  "Here."

  "And you have witnesses that will verify you weren't on the telephone at the times stated?" Williams asked.

  "To the minute, I don't know," Josh snorted. "All I can tell you is that I was at my party and there are plenty of people who can confirm it."

  "I'm afraid that isn't enough."

  "Then what is?"

  "There's nothing to say that you weren't on the phone to Mrs. Macey. You could have easily slipped out from your party to call her and returned with no one being the wiser," Brady said.

  "That's a bit of a stretch, Officer," Josh said.

  "Then what's your explanation, sir?" Brady asked.

  Flecks of spittle appeared on his bottom lip.

  Brady worried Josh. The cop was convinced he was lying about something and he didn't see how he could shift the guilt. If he weren't careful, he'd end up getting arrested for something he didn't do.

  "There were lots of people here--any one of them could have done it."

  "That's not particularly nice, Mr. Michaels, placing the blame on your friends," Brady said. "Who needs enemies?"

  Josh ignored the slur.

  "It's convenient you were having a party when this phone call was made," Brady said The cop just wasn't going to let this one go, Josh decided.

  "I didn't know I needed an airtight alibi."

  "I think we have enough for now," Williams said, rising to his feet. "We may request you make a sample recording of your voice for analysis and for Mrs.

  Macey to identify. We'll let you know in due course."

  Brady followed suit and stood next to his partner.

  "We'll see ourselves out, Mr. Michaels."

  "Hey, hold on." Josh came around his desk to stop the policemen from leaving. "I want to tell you about the man I saw on the bridge who ran me off the r
oad. I saw him again."

  "Mr. Michaels, I would worry about yourself right now. You could be facing serious charges. I think sighting the man who cut you off on the road, while disturbing, is the least of your worries. And as I remember it, you didn't get a very good look at him," Brady said.

  He motioned to his partner to leave. Williams already had the door open. The officers left Josh's office and he watched them walk out the door. The door slammed shut with a sound reminiscent of a cell door.

  The professional arrived at Bell's ranch house at six in the evening. The sun was descending on another perfect California spring day. He parked on a neighboring street to avoid any connection between him and the rental car.

  That morning, he had been drinking coffee in Arden Fair's food court, reading the newspaper and observing a very bizarre physic reading between two black women when she called. She was pissed at the ultimatum Michaels had issued her. Her anger more than boiled over. It threatened to scald the professional as he listened on his cellular phone. She'd called minutes after Michaels left her and decided she wanted to vent her rage at someone. The professional was glad he wasn't with Bell. He didn't fancy being that close to the epicenter of her eruption and said he couldn't make it over for at least an hour. In that time she should have cooled off.

  He decided that Michaels's blowup with Bell could only be to his advantage. Bell made the perfect puppet now. She wouldn't need much coercing to get her to do what he wanted. It was time to make Josh and Bell's

  relationship more volatile and bring it to a head. Mix the appropriate two elements to produce the explosive effect.

  It was basic chemistry.

  He knocked at the door and Bell greeted him. She looked ready to kill. The more he got to know Bell, the more he knew not to get on the wrong side of her. He did plan to cross her, but by the time she realized it, it would be too late for her to do anything about it.

  "Can I get you a beer?" she asked.

  "Yeah, a beer would be good."

  The professional took a seat in the sparsely furnished living room while Bell went to the kitchen. He recalled their initial date at the downtown restaurant after which Bell had brought him here. They'd discussed Josh, the affair and the subsequent money she'd blackmailed out of him. She expanded on her reasons for returning to Sacramento. She wanted to be in her hometown instead of living in exile in San Diego.