The Malfeasance Occasional

by Various Authors

  She guessed this whimpering fool was the little Asian woman’s man. He was considerably older, short, and pasty. He probably worked at home, making bank in fraudulent investment schemes on the internet. He probably made more in an hour than she would make in a year.

  “Let’s go inside,” she said through gritted teeth. Hopefully there would be some rope to tie up this blubbering fool. Then she could find another less pretentious car and split.

  They started to shuffle up the walkway when she heard another car. She turned to see a stretch limo easing down the drive. She pressed the knife to his stomach.

  “Who is that?”

  “It’s … it’s my ride.”

  “Send them…” Sadie started to say and then hesitated. “Where is it taking you?”

  “Graumann’s Chinese Theatre for … my premiere.”

  Sadie calculated as fast as she could. A movie guy, of course. The car came to a stop, and the driver jumped out, running to the passenger door. Another witness. But she had never been inside a limo … and she had never been to a movie premiere. Just life living in crappy apartments, crack houses, and prison. She knew she needed to escape Los Angeles, wait for this fucked up situation to blow over, and then come back and get her boys back. But a voice, that internal demon that seemed to guide her life more than sane logic, asked when had anything nice ever happen to her. Her entire life had been shitty. If anything, she could ride in luxury with pissypants to Hollywood and then jack another car there.

  “Can you get me into the premiere?”

  “Sssure,” the movie man said. The lie was transparent, but Sadie was willing to swallow it for the moment.

  “Tell the driver to get back in the car. We can close our own door.”

  * * *

  As Jessica drove to Clive’s house, the pain in her belly grew. She saw a limo leaving from his gated drive. Maybe the psycho bitch didn’t go to his place. Anyhow, it looked like her boss was going to make it to the premiere on time. She felt a moment of relief, but then confusion. How did he get a limo so quickly? It wasn’t like there were fleets with drivers ready to go on a moments notice on a Thursday.

  She put in the code to the gate and was surprised to see the Rolls Royce in the drive. That didn’t make any sense at all. Hopefully her phone was still in it.

  As she parked, she noticed a crumpled piece of paper on the passenger seat with her blood on it. She opened it. So the psycho wasn’t allowed to see her kids. That was a good thing. Jessica was going to take Sadie Bitterman down.

  She pushed herself out of the wretched, reeking Olds. Standing felt like fifty knives stabbed her stomach. She walked over to the British import, the door was open. Looking on the seat, she saw her purse turned over, wallet open and stripped of cash. Her phone was on the floor. Jessica reached for it, feeling burning pain. She dialed nine-one, but her finger hovered over the last digit.

  She needed medical attention. The yellow Hulk T-shirt had turned red. But things weren’t making sense. The limo leaving, the Rolls in the driveway. Was Clive in the house? She wanted to go inside and find out what was happening. She could treat the wound in there. Besides, Clive would hate to have an ambulance drive up to his house with all his neighbors watching. It would be a display of weakness. Although Jessica was short, she was not weak. She would rather die than give her a-hole boss the satisfaction of believing that lie. She pocketed her phone and staggered into the house.

  “Hello,” she shouted. Deathly silence.

  She shuffled over to Clive’s office adjacent to the marble-floored living room that was larger that her apartment. He had a restroom in the office and hopefully some hydrogen peroxide. She did not want to go into the creep’s bedroom if she could help it.

  As she passed his desk towards the bathroom, she noticed an envelope with her name on it and hesitated. She needed to clean up. She needed to call the police and an ambulance. But what had he left for her?

  She opened it and her eyes began to water. It all made sense now. She had been set up to fail. She wouldn’t have sex with him so he needed an excuse. That lowdown, ungrateful, son of a …

  * * *

  “I can have the best lawyers in the world work with you to get you out of this mess. Plus, I can give you all the money you’d ever want if you just let me go.”

  He was shaking and sweating, lying his ass off faster than a speed freak. Sadie wished she had a larger knife so that she could cut out his tongue. She felt the buzz again and swallowed the urge to shoot up. She needed to stay focused. They were stuck in traffic inching down Laurel Canyon.

  She held the knife under his jacket and pushed it into his flab as they sat in the rear seat of the limo, Sadie next to the door. The damned thing wouldn’t penetrate anything but blubber, it was so small, but that idiot didn’t know better. He stank of pee, and she wanted to pour some of the liquor from the wet bar on his lap just to take the edge off. She still hadn’t figured a way out yet, and this motormouth was wrecking her concentration.

  “Hold it. So you’re saying you’d give me a million dollars right now if I let you go,” she said.

  “Easily.”

  “You’re full of shit.”

  Before Clive could protest, his phone rang. The ring tone was familiar. Bum-bum-bum. Bum-bum-bum. What was it? Three blind mice, three blind mice. That was it. He started to reach for it, but then looked at his captor for guidance.

  “Who is it?” she asked.

  “Jessica. My assistant. She was my assistant. It’s her ring tone.”

  “Is she Asian?”

  He nodded.

  “Give me that phone.”

  He handed it to her, and she thought about throwing it out the window, but answered it instead. “Are you the bitch that got me into this mess?” she shouted.

  There was a gasp over the line and a moment of silence. “Are you the bitch who stabbed me on the effin’ four-oh-five?” Jessica responded.

  “Hey, you got off easy. I could have twisted and slashed or stabbed you a dozen times like they do in the pen.”

  “Uh-huh,” Jessica said over the line. “So do you have my low-life asshole boss with you, or did you steal his phone like you stole my money?”

  “He’s here with me. What would you like me to do with him?” Sadie said, sensing that the Asian bitch had no love for this man.

  “Stab him the way you stabbed me, but do it a hundred times.”

  Sadie laughed. Did she have an ally? He must be a major fuckhead if the woman she stabbed wanted her to do worse to her boss. Clive looked over angrily, and Sadie pushed the knife into him a fraction of an inch, causing him to yelp.

  “There’s one of the hundred.”

  “Great. Let me talk to him. If he yells at me, give him another stab.”

  “Absolutely.”

  She handed the phone to Clive. Shaking, he put the phone to his ear.

  “So you fired me, jackass,” Jessica’s voice came over the line loud enough for Sadie to hear.

  “You were late,” Clive said.

  “I might’ve been there on time if I wasn’t stabbed on the dammed freeway. But you never intended for me to make it to your house on time in the first place. You sent me on a fool’s errand, knowing I would fail, so you could fire me because I wouldn’t have sex with you. Isn’t that true?”

  “For God’s sake, call the cops, Jessica. I’m being kidnapped! Ouch!”

  Sadie drew blood on the second stab. One hundred times. Sadie thought about it. Powerful men and their abusive ways. Did they ever get the punishment they deserved, ever? No. And because of that they kept abusing, debasing, and destroying. Looking at Clive’s clammy, ashen face, she saw her uncle with his large, rough hands, those boyfriends who had beaten and humiliated her, the dealers who whored her out in trade for their smack, the cops tasing her after she was handcuffed, and today, that asshole judge taking her children away from her.

  She wanted revenge. She wanted to slice that dickhead’s throat and watch hi
m bleed out. But then he’d only die and she’d be guilty of murder. No, that wouldn’t do. He needed to live, but bear the scars of shame like she bore. What could she do to humiliate this bastard? A warm feeling rose inside of her. She should do it not only for herself, but for that angry Asian chick and all the other women in future who he would undoubtedly try to screw over. A good turn, pay it forward, and all that hippie crap the helps the soul. But what? Then inspiration struck as she remembered a scene from a novel she read in prison.

  * * *

  In the house, Jessica shook, feeling faint. She really needed a doctor. Like ten minutes ago.

  “Let me talk to her,” she said. She heard the phone rustle for a second.

  “Hello,” Sadie said.

  “I have to call the paramedics before I bleed out. Do you have a plan?”

  “None at all.”

  “Are you guys still heading to the Graumann’s Chinese?”

  There was a pause before Sadie said: “For the moment.”

  Jessica flattened out the crumpled paper she had found in the Oldsmobile.

  “Listen to me. I have your paperwork, Sadie Bitterman. The judgment about your children.” There was a moment of silence. Jessica decided to continue. “I can identify you, but…”

  “But what? They’ll find out who I am eventually.”

  “But I’ll give you time to run. Maybe find your children. There’s a Metro station at Hollywood and Highland. When the limo lines up for the red carpet, it will take half an hour at least. Jump out and run for it. You’re on your own from there. But promise me one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Promise me that somehow Clive Winterborne won’t be able walk the red carpet tonight.”

  * * *

  Sadie looked at Clive, pale and shaking. What kind of monster was he?

  “I’m not one who usually questions a favor, but what did that son of a bitch do?” she asked over the phone.

  “He’s sleaze. He’s been hitting on me and throwing tantrums. Since I haven’t had sex with him, he’s firing me. Of course, if I had, he would have fired me anyway. He uses people and throws them away. He’s awful.”

  Sadie felt a lump in her throat. That was her life. Getting screwed and used by slime like him. It started with Uncle Carl when she was five and then the unending line of predators who followed. She knew what to do to him. “Consider it done.”

  She hung up the phone and reached towards the wet bar. Anger spread inside her like fire on gasoline. That reptilian part of her brain was activated again.

  “Now listen here—” Clive started to say, but was cut off when the champagne bottle Sadie had grabbed connected to his temple. He was out cold.

  * * *

  Jessica called 911 and then crawled into the bathroom where she hid her dismissal letter and Sadie’s court papers, wedging them behind the toilet. There was no peroxide or first aid kit in the bathroom either. She crawled back to the office when a wave of blackness overtook her and she shut her eyes, floating into the dark.

  * * *

  When Clive’s limo pulled up to the red carpet, only half of the photographers fixed their lenses on the door. It was only a producer, not a star. Those lucky ones got the shots of Clive Winterborne, unconscious and naked, hogtied with his own belt and propped up on his knees with the words “I ABUSE WOMEN” written in red lipstick across his chest. The driver, recovering from his shock, shut the door a couple of seconds later. Within minutes, pictures of Clive circulated throughout the internet.

  Jessica opened her eyes slowly. Everything hurt. Florescent light stung her eyes. She turned to see the needles connected to tubes in her arm and a police officer standing over her. He was tall, kind of cute. Then she noticed she was wearing a paper smock under blankets in a hospital bed. Oh God, she thought, I must look horrible.

  “Ms. Tan?” the man asked.

  “Yes,” she croaked. Her throat was desert dry.

  “Do you know the woman who stabbed you?”

  Jessica blinked, and then shook her head. She needed to only remember the things that happened on the 405. “Never saw her before. Did you catch her?”

  The officer shook his head. “But don’t worry. We will.” He pulled a small notebook from his pocket. “Can you tell me what happened yesterday?”

  She gave him all the details until she stumbled into Sadie’s car and started driving. He looked at her with an open expression like he wanted more. “I don’t remember anything after that. At least so far.”

  The officer nodded thoughtfully and handed her his card. “If you remember anything else, give me a call.”

  She held his card. Officer Dan Trumble with his phone number and LAPD badge number. He nodded and left. Would he find out Clive fired her? That she consorted with the woman who stabbed her?

  The door opened, and Debbie from the production office walked in, her heels clacking on the tile.

  “Oh my gawd, darling. How are you doing?”

  “I hurt, all over.”

  “Oh honey, I’m so happy you’re alive. Did the officer tell you about Clive?”

  Jessica sat up. Her stomach screamed. “No, what happened?”

  Debbie told her how Clive’s notorious entrance marred the premiere. “The driver said he ignored all the noises he heard because Clive has a reputation for doing weird things in the back of limos. He’s always been a pervy creep, but now a bunch of women are talking to the media about how he screwed them over. Corporate canned his ass this morning, thank God.”

  “He’s gone?”

  “Nobody wants to touch him. You stay away from him. He’s toxic.”

  Jessica nodded, her thoughts swimming slowly. She was probably pumped full of Demerol. He had it coming. He deserved this humiliation, right?

  “Hey,” Debbie said touching Jessica’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’re keeping you, and you’ve been promoted to associate producer. There is always a silver lining, right?”

  Jessica heard the word “Really?” escape her lips.

  * * *

  “Mommy, when are we getting ice cream?”

  “After we pick up your brother, Tyler.”

  “Marcus?”

  “No, your real brother, baby doll. Edgar. Not that fake family. Now just hush for a moment.”

  Sadie looked at her watch and then stared at the school doors waiting for them to open any minute. They sat in a Toyota Corolla, which she had jacked from a Ralph’s in Studio City that morning before exchanging the license plates with another Corolla beside a beauty parlor in Van Nuys. She hoped it would buy her a day or two. The tricks you learn in prison.

  She had picked up Tyler from kindergarten at noon, grabbing him at recess before the teachers could react. Now she watched while several parents, mostly rich bitches, stood by their expensive cars, chatting at each other like idiots.

  A bell from inside rang, and the front doors flew open a few seconds later with children rushing out like water from a faucet. Sadie strained to find her son among the sea of kids wearing the same blue knit shirts. Then she spotted Edgar walking with another boy. He had a backpack slung over his back on one shoulder. Sadie felt her heart tug, her baby was becoming a man.

  “Edgar!” she shouted.

  He did a double take, looking at her and squinting. He then looked over to a woman standing by a Mercedes with a couple of other women. That lady had her eyes fixed on Sadie with her jaw hanging open.

  “Come on, son,” Sadie yelled. “Hurry.”

  Edgar took a hesitant step towards the foster mom and then turned, sprinting toward the Corolla. He hopped in the front seat and Sadie gave him a bear hug, before tearing down the road towards the 110. She hoped that by tomorrow her family would cross over into Mexico.

  That was the dream Sadie chased. So vivid, so real, so perfect. She achieved it the only way she could, on Parker’s couch. Her arm was still tied off and the needle lay beside her, the plunger already pushed through, its contents coursing throug
h her veins and her mind.

  TRAVIS RICHARDSON was born in Germany, raised in Oklahoma, and currently lives in Los Angeles. His novella “Lost in Clover” was listed in Spinetingler Magazine’s Best Crime Fiction of 2012. He has had short stories published in All Due Respect, Shotgun Honey, and Powder Flash Burns online and as well the anthology Scoundrels: Tales of Greed, Murder and Financial Crimes. He also shoots short movies. Find out more at http://tsrichardson.com.

  Birds of Paradise

  by Chuck Wendig

  Five women walk into a dildo shop.

  Sounds like a joke. It isn’t.

  Because only four of them are going to walk out alive.

  * * *

  Big Dan’s Adult Emporium. More like “porn closet.” About what you’d expect from an exact-epicenter-of-North-Carolina-nowhere sex shop, Miriam figures.

  The women and the girl come in from the storm. Bad storm. Angry storm. Rain hammers the roof. Rain like marbles on a drum. Rain so hard it’s like God trying to drown the sins of man like they’re cats in a bathtub.

  Once in a while the door bangs like someone’s trying to force his way in, but it’s just the wind howling and thrashing like it’s caught in the white-knuckle grip of a methamphetamine detox.

  Inside the store, three other women, one girl, and one dude. Miriam thinks of them as: Haggard Rag, Yellow Slicker, Gold Earrings, the Waif—and the dude she thinks of as Lugnuts. Because, well. She figures that’s not only what’s in his ears, but rattling around between ‘em, too.

  * * *

  It’s Gold Earrings that’s going to die.

  And she’s going to die in an hour.

  And the way Miriam figures it, one of these others is gonna kill her.

  * * *