Disk of Death

by Kim Smith

  “Yeah, yeah, big bad wolf mama,” he said, gathering the pictures together. “It’s okay to use that gimmick on potential blind dates, but this whacko out there…he’s for real.”

  We stood for a few moments sizing each other up.

  Finally, I dropped my gaze and said, “Gee, thanks for playing ‘scare the victim’. Next time, why don’t you invite me downtown to see crime scene photos.”

  He glanced at his cell phone and turned to go. “If it will prevent that cocky attitude from getting you killed, I might.”

  I followed him onto the landing outside my apartment, watching as he continued on his way, got into his car, and drove off. I even watched until his car rolled out of sight.

  Something about that man messed up my world.

  Chapter 10

  Nerves on edge, I kept trying to reach Dwayne on his cell. He finally answered, and I invited myself over. He opened the door and stepped back, arms folded, with a smirk on his face. “Come on in here, Wall-ass. You been ringing my phone off the damn hook all day, seems like.”

  “It’s important investigator stuff.” I breezed past him and tossed my purse on the ugly green chair before plopping down on the couch. “We have to get busy.”

  “Did you find something else out?”

  “Nothing. Empty handed. But that’s okay. We just need to work harder.”

  “We? What we? If I remember right, I told you I don’t work with anybody.”

  “You’ll work with me. I have clues, suspects, and this.” I waved my cell phone at him.

  He laughed and sat beside me. “Yeah, that’s really important. Wait. I got it.” He paused for emphasis. “It’s a secret agent tool? It self-destructs?”

  I scowled. “For your information, I think the killer called me. He knows who I am. Looks like he took Rick’s little black book. I’m marked.”

  He sat up a little. “Really?”

  “Yes, so we have to work fast. He’s got something I want and I’m somebody he wants, at least, I got that impression from his phone call, so there’s some urgency in all of this.”

  “Damn,” he said. “Okay, you got my attention. Especially since he knows who you are, has probably followed you already, and your ass is sitting on my couch.”

  “Your couch?”

  “Um, I mean my Granny’s couch.”

  “If you would just agree to open up your freaking office we wouldn’t be sitting on Granny’s couch, now would we? Besides, I don’t think I was followed. I was careful.”

  He walked into the kitchen, muttering to himself.

  Something was wrong.

  He returned with two beers and I gave him a sharp glare. “What’s up?”

  He scratched his head and tried to look innocent. “I think I owe you an apology.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve sort of fibbed about some stuff,” he confessed, sitting beside me.

  “Fibbed? About what?” I sipped on the cold brew.

  He focused on his Nikes. “I ain’t got no fancy office in Cordova.”

  “What?” I didn’t mean to sound so shocked, and immediately began back-peddling. “I mean, well, no big deal. You know, Cordova doesn’t mean anything. Is your office in a bad part of town or something?”

  “Um. No.” He shifted a little before crossing his legs. Then he took a long pull from his beer. When he tapped his fingers against his knee and refused to glance at me, I knew there was something very fishy about this whole situation.

  I waited. Something was coming. I felt it.

  “Well, see, I don’t exactly have an office. Not yet, I mean.”

  I exhaled the breath I’d been holding. “Okay. So what? Most entrepreneurs work from home, right?”

  “Um. I don’t exactly have the business going all out just yet,” he explained. “But, it’s coming along. Just have to find a few more bucks, make a few more contacts. Not much.”

  “Okay, Dwayne. No biggie. I can help you out with that. I promised you the five thousand dollars I won, remember? We can go office shopping once this is behind us. But first, we have to find this guy and get my tapes.”

  He cleared his throat. “Well, since I’m confessing—this ain’t really Granny’s place either.”

  I swallowed and took a good look around. Damn. Why hadn’t I seen this before?

  “Yours?”

  “Mine.”

  I got up and walked around, seeing things for the first time. He was a terrible decorator. Nothing matched. The furniture was antique disco era. The colors were loud, obnoxious. Lime green chair, once-upon-a-time brown velour couch, fake wood everything. I thought gay men were supposed to be experts about fashion? Maybe he was a slow starter?

  “No offense, but you should let me pick out the furnishings for your office. You, uh, have very bohemian taste.”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, well.”

  I knelt in front of him, looking directly into his eyes. “It’s okay, Dwayne. I’ll scratch your behind if you’ll scratch mine. I worked at a furniture store, so I know a little about design. I can whip this place into shape, no problem. But first, I need help with this little situation of mine, and you’re a private investigator with all that training.”

  He smacked his lips and averted his eyes.

  “What? No, don’t tell me.” I wanted to shake him. “Did you lie about that too?”

  He patted my arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t quite get the diploma. They were on-line classes, and I was going along pretty good until, well, you know.” He shrugged. “I got my Internet service cut off.”

  I rose to my feet and paced a few steps. “Okay, so you’re not a PI, you don’t have a license or an office, and you don’t even have an apartment. Is there a Granny?”

  “In Chicago.”

  That was a relief. “What the hell am I supposed to do now? I counted on your help to find this wacko. He’s a freaking squirrel out looking for his next acorn, and I’m it. My name is written all over his oak tree, in case you hadn’t figured that out.”

  He stood and put a hand out to stop my pacing. “Wall-ass, you’re my friend, and I won’t let nothing happen to you, even if it means putting my own self in danger. I just thought you deserved the truth.”

  I chewed on my thumbnail. What was left of it. “Thanks. Really.”

  Dwayne pulled on my arm, dragging me back to the couch and we sat. “Look, it’ll be okay. All we have to do is figure this crap out. Who do you think this dude is?”

  “Don’t know. He masked his voice on the phone. He told me he was coming for me. He also called me a sex kitten.”

  He nodded, sipping his beer. “Sounds like he’s found out how to view what’s on that SD card in his spare time. We’re in good shape though, huh? We know what he drives.”

  “Doesn’t matter. There are only about a billion of those same trucks in South Lake. Probably a trillion if you add Memphis to the equation. My aunts also reminded me about Rick’s brother, Charlie. His own family fired him for stealing company money to pay gambling debts. He would have a reason to kill Rick.”

  “Yeah, but he didn’t have a reason to threaten you, did he?”

  “Charlie and I got into a shouting match one time over the fact that Rick and I were an item. Then, Charlie accused me of flaunting our affair under the other employee’s noses. He said I acted like it would get me somewhere. I never flaunted anything, though. Rick and I were careful not to let on.”

  Dwayne rubbed his face with his hand. “Hm. Well, guess he’s on the list, huh?”

  “Yeah, and let’s don’t forget what Yoshi said about the African American friend that Rick didn’t like. I still haven’t figured that out.”

  “Who else?”

  “I don’t know. No one else hated him that much. He didn’t have any enemies that I knew about. And he only had a few close friends, too. Just Drury. Joe Drury.” I fell silent. I had completely forgotten him in the mess going on. “I need to call him. He was Rick’s old bowling buddy. Rick quit the leag
ue when he met me because I don’t do the bowling thing, but they stayed in touch. We’ve double-dated with him before. They were good friends. He’s probably freaking out over the news.”

  “They say the usual killer is the one closest to the victim,” Dwayne noted, pointing his finger at me. “So, you and this Joe dude were the closest.”

  “Watch it, mister. We’ve already established I couldn’t have done it, and Joe wouldn’t want to kill him. They were buddies. He and Rick did a lot of stuff together. Guy stuff, you know?”

  He gave me a crooked grin. “Yeah, girl. Shit. I love guy stuff.”

  “Stop. No details, thank you.” I swatted his knee and took a slug from the can of beer. “Aunt Tillie thinks Rick was protecting me. You think that could be true?”

  “Could be. Don’t think I’d want my lover prancing over to my place if some freakazoid was after me, either,” he agreed. “That would be reason enough to part company.”

  I digested this, adding it to my list of mental tally marks in Rick’s favor. Maybe he had loved me after all.

  “You getting hungry?” Dwayne asked.

  I thought about it. “Yeah, actually I am.”

  “Let’s go get our grub on, and maybe we can piece together a plan.”

  “You up for a trip to the Underground? They have food, I think.”

  He smirked. “I see the hamster racing around on that damn wheel in your head again. What’s at the Underground?”

  “Maybe Charlie Fine. He hangs out there sometimes. I would love to trap him into spilling his guts to some broad. If that falls through, I plan on following him after the funeral service tomorrow. You up for a little surveillance work?”

  “Sir Vay Lance is my code name.”

  I saluted him with my beer can. “To finding this weirdo and getting my stuff back.”

  He clinked it with his empty one. “Cheers.” After a few swallows, he asked, “Ever been to the Underground before?”

  “Nope. Don’t know anything about it except what I’ve heard on the news. Why?”

  He sighed, pulling his nylon basketball jersey out of his waistband. “I went one time before I found out it’s a drinking hole frequented by fat, white, straight dudes with trucker hats and belt buckles the size of Texas.”

  “Sounds like you had a bad time.”

  “Yeah, one of them had long hair and an attitude. I don’t relish a return visit. If I see a dude with a long ass earring that reads ‘My mama can whip your mama’, I am so out of there food—or no food.”

  Dwayne drove his car so I could watch out for the Ram. His Mustang was musty, and needed some bodywork, but it still ran great. We went to Kringle’s grocery store, to my bank’s satellite branch, and I deposited the five thousand dollars in my account after Dwayne kept refusing it.

  “You keep it, Wall-ass. You’re gonna need it until you get another job.”

  I still planned on giving it to him when this whole debacle was over.

  As we walked back to the car, a full bag of miniature candy bars lay near the basket return. I stooped to pick it up. They were soft from the heat, but I would put them in the freezer. They’d still be good to eat. Maybe a little discolored, but what a super time my fat cells would have with them.

  Dwayne slapped it out of my hand. “What are you doing? Are you nuts?”

  “No, are you? That’s a brand new bag of candy somebody dropped from their basket.”

  “Don’t you read? Killers do some bad shit to candy!” He put his hand over his heart, his face deadly serious. He was such a sissy.

  I dropped the bag of candy into a nearby cart. “Oh okay, worry wart. Too melted anyway. What kind of food does the Underground serve?”

  “Last time I was there it was a mishmash. Maybe some Greek something? I sure hope so. My gut needs some spice.”

  I would have laughed at him, but I knew his eating habits. Some of his favorites would liquefy cast iron. “They have anything not so hot? My stomach doesn’t have the tough lining yours does.”

  “Yeah girl, they got burgers, and you can get chicken since you’re always watching your waistline. I weighed the other day, and God, I’m a freaking elephant.”

  “You are not,” I told him just before he got in on the driver’s side and cranked the car. I slid into the passenger seat and turned up the air conditioner while he got situated. “You lose any more weight and you’ll be a ghost. You know you hate dead stuff—”

  He put his hand out, cutting me off. His face creased with worry lines, and I followed his gaze. A white Dodge Ram circled the lot.

  “Oh no.”

  He gave me a confident smile and turned the engine off.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Can’t run forever, honey child. Time to face this bastard and see what his deal is.”

  I started to protest, but he reached underneath the seat and came up with a black snub-nosed pistol.

  “Oh-my…God.”

  “Don’t get all freaked out, Wall-ass. It’s legal.”

  I turned. The truck was slowly approaching. “Shit, Dwayne. He’s coming.”

  Dwayne shoved the pistol into his waistband, covered it with his shirt, and stepped out of the car. He acted so bold. So bad-ass. I wanted to be just like him. Unfortunately, my weak knees didn’t understand that logic. I eased out of the other side, kneeling down to keep the Mustang as protective cover.

  As the truck cruised by, the driver peered out behind sunglasses and a baseball cap. When he realized Dwayne was watching him, he zipped down the row, wheeled around the end, and roared up the next. No doubt about it. This was the right Dodge Ram.

  “I think he recognized us,” Dwayne said, taking off to the other side of the aisle to catch him before he escaped. He shouted over his shoulder: “That’s what I get for hanging out with you, Wall-ass.”

  “Whatever!”

  The truck stopped at the end of the aisle blocked by a short lady with her two kids rolling their basket out of the way.

  Dwayne crept up to the back of the truck, and with one hand on his waistband, approached the driver’s side. He tried to yank open the door, but it was locked.

  “Get out!” he screamed, waving at the driver.

  The driver got the message. He unlocked the door, and Dwayne snatched it open, shouting orders as fast as a rapper. The guy got out, hands up. I slid back into my seat and grabbed my cell phone to call Sal. He agreed to meet us there.

  With stomach roiling, I hoofed it toward the man who’d been trying to kill me. The people pushing their baskets to their cars gaped in curiosity. Thank goodness, Dwayne had not pulled his gun out and waved it around. There were far too many housewives and young mothers out here.

  As I approached, Dwayne gave me a strange look. The truck’s driver had his back to me, but something rang familiar about that back. The man was short and stocky with gray hair cut into a bowl-shape.

  Oh, God. No. It couldn’t be.

  “Mr. Yoshi?” I pulled him around by the shoulder, until he faced me, hands still in the air. “What are you doing? Do you realize you could have caused me to have an accident, or worse, by chasing me like that?”

  He thrust his lower lip out in a full-fledged pout. “No trying to kill. Trying to catch.”

  “What? Why were you trying to catch me?”

  “To catch killer.”

  “Well, what the hell are you chasing me for? I don’t have him! And how did you find me anyway?”

  “Tailing you. All time. Killer after you next. Yoshi follow you, find killer.”

  “Find killer?” It sank in. He wasn’t the killer. He wasn’t even after me for evil purposes. “Did you call me on my cell and say something ugly?”

  He squinted, looked at Dwayne, and back at me. “Yoshi no have number.”

  I sighted Sal’s unmarked car approaching, single light flashing. He pulled in front of Yoshi’s truck, peering inside as he came around to where we gathered. He covered his surprise when he saw Yoshi. “Afternoo
n, Mr. Yoshi, Shannon, and...” He lifted an eyebrow at Dwayne. “Why are you so familiar?”

  “We went to the same college. Shannon and I are old friends.” Dwayne became overly nervous and looked down at his shoes. “I ain’t the one, dude. It’s that old man’s truck.”

  At that, Sal crossed his arms and gave me a pointed look. “Nice weather we’re having today. Can I be of assistance?”

  “Cute, real cute. We’ve got a problem here. Yoshi’s been the guy in the truck. He says he followed me to try to catch Rick’s killer. He thinks the killer will be after me next, and if I’m the bait, then he can just dangle his line and catch the big fish.”

  “Yoshi no go fish.”

  I ignored him. “He didn’t make the call to my cell.”

  Sal nodded. “Well, one mystery solved, several more to go. Good day, sir, you can go home. The police department appreciates your efforts at citizen involvement, but please try not to get too carried away, okay?”

  Yoshi nodded, darting for the driver’s door. He even used his turn signal as he drove away. Sal’s presence must have scared him.

  “You ain’t just gonna let that old fart go?” Dwayne had been silent up until now. I figured he must have been in shock to see his old crush. “He’s got some lame ass story going on about Dude’s killer being a black man.”

  “I know. We’re checking on it,” Sal replied, with complete calm. “Did we play football together?”

  Dwayne grinned, flashing a gold tooth. He motioned up and down his body. “Hell naw. I ain’t in the habit of putting all this goodness in harm’s way. We had class together. Tomlin’s Business Math?”

  Sal ushered us out of the street. “Ah. Yes. My least favorite of all classes. Well, I hate to break up the reunion folks, but we’re drawing too much attention. I’m sure Kringle’s will be sending the manager out soon.”

  We walked over to the side of Dwayne’s car.

  Sal made ready to leave. “I hope you don’t have any more trouble, Miss Wallace.”

  Total cop formality. I couldn’t meet his eyes.

  “But if you do, please don’t hesitate to use the number I gave you. We’re here to protect and serve.”