Disk of Death

by Kim Smith

  I nodded mutely, and he walked away. Dwayne and I got into his car. Dejection smote me. The man in the white truck was not a crazed killer, only a very bad driver with a desire to follow me. The real killer was still out there.

  “Mm. Mm. Mm,” Dwayne muttered, interrupting my thoughts. “Yessiree. Salivate’s got it bad for you, girlfriend.”

  “What? Don’t be stupid.”

  “I ain’t being stupid, I got eyes.” He backed out from the parking slot. “I know lust when I see it. He ruffled with it.”

  “That wasn’t lust. It’s lunacy. I’m making the man crazy.”

  “Crazy, lusty, horny, whatever.”

  Suddenly feeling self-conscious, I asked, “Does my butt look big in this skirt?”

  He thought about it before putting the car into drive. “Naw. But your ta-tas look like Swiss cheese in that bra. What is that? Some type of lace? I hear tell that in France…”

  France was the last word I heard because I had already tuned him out. Boobs that reminded him of Swiss cheese? Really?

  The Underground, a Memphis landmark in existence for as long as I could remember, gleamed with solid black paint on the exterior, which was made from cinder blocks. Whether it was to make it look like a honky tonk or whether it was just a poor choice of paint, I couldn’t say.

  On Monday afternoons the place stayed pretty empty of patrons, as most of the usual crowd visited it on weekends for beer and partying. We walked into the dim interior, and I got a good view of the layout. Tables were situated throughout the area and most of them could accommodate four guests. Some nestled up close to the bar and we decided to sit at one of those. We had a view of the entire place.

  Soon, a bored-looking bald man who had been rearranging liquor bottles strolled over and asked us if we wanted something to drink.

  “Do you have sweet tea?” I asked.

  Dwayne chimed in. “Or hot tea?”

  The man laughed as he jotted something on the notepad he carried. “Aw. Did y’all think this was a cozy place to come and curl up with a cup of tea because we yanked all the beer signs down?”

  I bared my teeth and growled. Wise guy, eh? “You wouldn’t know Charlie Fine, would you?”

  No sense in wasting time. This jackass was probably one of his closest friends.

  The man sized me up. “Maybe. Who’s asking?”

  “No one special. Just thought I might find him around.”

  The man grinned, displaying missing front teeth.

  Yikes.

  “He always gets the hot ones,” he said with a sneer. “But let me be the first to warn ya, his stick ain’t as big as he claims.”

  He sauntered off in the direction of the bar.

  Dwayne grinned. “I wonder how he knows.”

  “He gives me the creeps.”

  Dwayne leaned close. “Two guys just came in, and trust me, their sticks are huge, metal, and encased in leather. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  I didn’t need encouragement. We were already on Winchester Road by the time old Wiseguy likely came back to serve the tea. The only good thing to come out of the experience was the knowledge that Charlie Fine was a frequent visitor. I would catch him there. Big stick or not.

  That night, I dreamed of Rick. He fought off an attacker with a knife. The attacker’s eyes rolled around, showing the whites. The dream switched, and I stood outside the apartment, beating on the door. Rick screamed, “For God’s sake! I gave you the money, don’t do this!”

  I sat up with a start. Rick really had screamed that. At the time, I thought he was yelling at me. Was his killer in the apartment while I was outside? Had Rick tried to get my attention and failed, because I’d been stinking drunk?

  My heart pounded in my chest like a runaway train. I threw back the covers and climbed from the bed to go to the bathroom.

  The night light on the bathroom wall glowed, and I found my way from long association with the surroundings. The killer had climbed in through Rick’s kitchen window according to Sal, so I checked the lock on the small window facing the parking lot.

  The street lamp beamed on the windshields of the cars in the lot, casting reflections in all directions. This simple illumination was probably why I noticed the dark-clothed man slipping from behind the dumpster, moving stealthily between cars. He kept low, head down, until he was beside my Cougar. In utter amazement, I watched as he rolled under Betsy and out of view.

  Unless he was changing my oil, this was a very bad sign.

  I rushed to grab my cell phone to call the police, but I couldn’t find it on the bedside table where I thought I had left it. I threw the comforter to the other side of the bed hoping it was buried there.

  Shit. No phone.

  Had I left it in the kitchen? I ran, breathlessly, scanning the counters and table as I passed.

  Not there.

  “Oh damn it!” I shouted as I flew back to the bedroom. It was on the nightstand when I went to bed. I kept it with me in case I needed it.

  Focus, Shannon.

  I fanned out the bed covers and heard a soft thump at the head of the bed. I fell to my knees and tugged the phone from where it had landed between the rail and nightstand. My hands shook so hard that I almost dropped it.

  Thank God for 911!

  I trotted back into the bathroom to peek out of the window while it rang.

  Where was he? Was he still out there, doing something to my car?

  When the dispatcher answered, I gave my information, pleading with her to urge the cops to hurry.

  “They’re on the way, ma’am.”

  I thanked her and disconnected, still looking out onto the parking lot.

  No movement.

  This was not good.

  What if he was outside the apartment trying to get in through the kitchen window like at Rick’s? I crept silently toward the kitchen. The overhead light spilled out into the living room.

  I squatted outside the kitchen door, like they did in cop movies, and tried to make myself a small target. I leaned out a little bit to get a view of the window.

  Nothing. No one peered in.

  Then, as if my hearing had turned super-sonic, I heard scuffling on the stairs outside my door.

  Ohmigod!

  Would he try to break in?

  Still gripping my phone, I crawled to the door and double-checked the locks. Tears rolled down my cheeks. I didn’t want to die. I knelt beside the door, silently praying, listening for any noises that would give the intruder away.

  When someone pounded on the door, I ran screaming to my bedroom, slamming the door, and locking it. Dialing 911 again, I gave the dispatcher my address and name before whispering, “Someone is at my door. I think he’s trying to get in.”

  The dispatcher calmly replied, “Ma’am, are you in the room where the officer is attempting to get in?”

  “The officer? What. . .”

  “Ma’am, go and open your door.”

  “It’s not the killer?”

  “No ma’am. South Lake police are responding to your call.”

  “Are you sure? I’m so scared!”

  “I understand ma’am but he’s called in and told us his location. He’s outside your door, knocking right now. Please go let the officer in.”

  I whimpered, “Okay.” Creeping toward the door, I kept my phone handy, peeking through the kitchen doorway as I passed. No one at the window.

  Then, assured that I was safe for the moment, I rushed to the door. “Who’s there?”

  Another knock.

  I peeked through the security hole, but it was distorted. And dark. A lot of good those damn things were. Just wait until the maintenance man heard from me.

  If I lived.

  Another knock, harder this time. Then the knob was shaken so violently I took a step back.

  “Who is it!” I screamed.

  “South Lake PD,” he answered. “Please open the door.”

  How could I know for sure? I didn’t have a c
hain or I would crack it open and demand identification. As it was, I primed my phone for a redial of 911 and eased open the door, jamming my foot where it could be closed again quickly.

  “Show some ID.” I tried to calm the quaver in my voice but failed.

  He wore a uniform, a blond crew cut, and a surfer-boy body. His last name glimmered from his shirtfront. Blalock. He showed me his badge, and I opened the door wide, nearly ready to hug and kiss him.

  “Ma’am,” he said, nodding to me. “Did you call about someone around your vehicle?”

  “Yes,” I answered, shutting and locking the door as he passed me. “Whoever this freak was, he rolled under my blue Cougar, but I lost sight of him when I was talking to 911.”

  He paused. “Okay, I’ll go and check for you.”

  I lingered. If he went outside, I would be alone and unprotected again.

  “Ma’am?” He motioned at the fact that he couldn’t exit without access to the door I barred with my body.

  I swallowed hard, and eased away from the door. “Sorry,” I said, as meekly as I could.

  He nodded and opened the door, pointing at it before taking a step away. “Lock it. Two raps, it’s me.”

  I did as he asked, comforted by the thought that he seemed unconcerned and in total control. I hurried to the bathroom to watch as he went down to the parking lot.

  My Cougar shone dully in the lamplight. Blalock got down on his knees and shined his flashlight under Betsy. He swept the light beam down and back looking at the underside.

  He rose quickly and spoke into his lapel mike. Then he strode back to the building. After two sharp raps, I opened the door.

  “There’s definitely something there. The team will be here soon.

  “Team? What team?”

  “Bomb technicians.”

  A chill started at my shoulders and worked its way down to my fingertips. That silhouetted creep had put something explosive under my Betsy?

  Blalock muttered unintelligible lingo into his lapel mike and waited for the dispatcher to answer back. In a few seconds, she replied in equally garbled verbiage.

  “They’re sending another car. I’ll be back.”

  “Two raps?”

  He nodded and left, unable to leave a possible bomb unguarded. I wandered the rooms of my apartment as unsettled as I have ever been. With no real news to tell Dwayne, I decided not to call him. He wouldn’t want to hear my tales of nearly peeing my pants in fear.

  In a little while, Blaylock returned. Two raps. I opened the door.

  “It may take some time to get someone out here, the squad is on a call right now. One of my associates is out there in a cruiser, waiting. I’ll stay in here and keep you company until they arrive.”

  I led the way to the kitchen to make some coffee, and he filled out his report while we waited.

  “How hard is it to get a gun these days?” It was on my mind in a big way. Especially after seeing his gun holstered on his hip.

  “Pretty easy actually. Have to get a background check done, but that’s the national instant check system, and that’s it.”

  “What about a waiting period?”

  “Nope.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Unless you want to carry it concealed,” he said. “You need a permit for that.”

  My mouth fell open. I might easily have been the proud owner of a handgun and shot the silly fool who’d been messing with my car. “Thanks for the information. I’ll be looking into that.”

  “Women living alone should have protection. I recommend a few classes if you buy a gun. The police department will be happy to help in your search for a firearm.”

  Another knock at the door.

  Blalock moved me out of the way and asked who it was before opening.

  “Ramirez.”

  I cringed. Sal entered, dressed in black fatigues that puffed out over shiny, black boots and a tee shirt. He took charge as soon as he stepped through the door. “Blalock? Good. Go get a perimeter started, albeit totally too late.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Shannon,” Sal said, walking toward me. “You okay?”

  I nodded.

  He led me to a chair. “You look like you might fall out. Sit.”

  I did. “How did you know I was in trouble? And why are you dressed like Rambo?”

  “Moonlighting. I train with the S.W.A.T. team on my days off. I heard the call and recognized the address.”

  “That makes sense. Sal, is there a bomb under my car?”

  “Looks like there’s probably something that could be heat-sensitive under there.”

  I shivered. “Wonderful.”

  “What did you do to piss this guy off so bad?”

  Who knew? I shrugged. “He’s a nutcase. Does he need a reason?”

  “Guess not. Wish you could come up with a logical answer though. It would make my job easier.”

  I smiled. He’d been nice about the whole ordeal thus far. Of course, he had nothing to gain by being tough. I would get tough right back. I decided to throw him a bone. “Maybe he thinks I know who he is?”

  “Do you?”

  “I have a few suspicions. I’ll let you know if anything turns up.”

  “Don’t dig around on your own.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t.”

  “Good. I like an agreeable woman.”

  I bit my lip. If he only knew how agreeable.

  Blalock radioed him, and he had to leave for a few minutes. “Sit right here, and don’t move until I tell you to.”

  He was gone for a long time. I got antsy and paced back and forth, finally coming to roost in front of the bathroom window again. Several men dressed like Sal moved around the car, dark figures armed with beacons of light, and dogs sniffing around, barking every so often.

  My neighbors threw open windows and peered out into the dark until Sal began asking them to stay inside and keep their doors and windows closed.

  I would have a lot of explaining to do at the mailboxes, which is where I usually ran into my neighbors. Most were working stiffs who would be unhappy at the loss of sleep.

  Something was carefully hauled out from under my car. They set it on the ground, and I waited for a flash or a blast, but none came. An overly active German Shepard barked like mad.

  In a short while, a figure detached from the rest and came my way. It was Sal. He knocked on the door, but I was already opening it.

  “Come with me,” he said, sweat shining on his forehead.

  Intrigued, I followed him. At my car, I exchanged glances with Sal and Blalock. Another fatigue-wearing hunk trained his flashlight on the long, white, crushed box at his feet. The lid had been flipped open.

  Inside, long-stemmed black roses with hooky, ugly thorns. The bomb tech held a white card by the edge trying to prevent damage to any evidence. Sal shone his light on it.

  One word appeared in a scrawling script. Boom.

  “Boom?” My voice trembled.

  Sal placed a warm hand on my shoulder. “Attached to a makeshift pipe bomb.”

  The sultry night closed in on me.

  Sal caught me in his arms as I buckled.

  “Dios Mia!” he shouted, hoarsely.

  I threw up on his shoes.

  Chapter 11

  The rest of the evening and early morning blurred into an ongoing horror movie. Sal asked if I had somewhere else to go as, obviously, remaining in my apartment was dangerous. He sat me on the curb away from the others and ranted for a long time about how much trouble I was and what a danger this situation was to everyone including myself.

  “How did you get yourself into such a mess?” he asked.

  I endured his tirade until one of the other cops interrupted, and then I escaped back to my apartment where I walked the floor, full of self-loathing, and nearly in a full-blown panic attack.

  I didn’t want to endanger the Mamas, so I grimaced and called Dwayne. As I waited for him to answer, I wished again I had gone to Ire
land with Katie.

  “Hello?”

  “Dwayne?”

  “Who the hell else is gonna answer my phone at three in the morning?”

  “Dangerous question.”

  “Um hm.”

  “Well, listen, I sort of need your help again.”

  “What now?” He made a swishing noise. Sitting up?

  “I sort of had an ordeal over here, and I need a place to stay.”

  “Sweetie,” he yawned. “You are an ordeal.”

  I relayed the entire tale to Dwayne and he told me to come over. It didn’t take me long to gather my clothes back into the duffel bag. I’d packed and unpacked so much recently, I could probably say “jump”, and my clothes would scramble into the bag.

  By the time I walked out my front door, the cops had finished with my car.

  Sal offered to drive me to my destination. “The killer is still out there somewhere,” he murmured, worried brown eyes boring into my own.

  The reminder sent my thoughts into a black void. I moved like a machine to his car, numb. When faced with such overwhelming situations, my usual response was to bury myself in sleep. Or just bury my head under the covers as I had done when the cops arrived.

  Sal drove me to Dwayne’s trailer. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed, mean-faced beneath the porch light. I hated to be such a pain, but didn’t know where else to go. At least he had a gun, whereas my aunts would be sick from fright and wouldn’t know what to do to keep me safe. They didn’t need trouble like this at their age anyway.

  Once I was safely inside, Sal drove away. I flopped down on the bed in the front bedroom after giving Dwayne a mumbled goodnight and watching him stumble down the hall. I sprawled there, fully dressed, wondering what had happened to my life.

  I’d been on the way to success and happiness just a week or so ago, before Rick decided he wanted me to spend less time at his place. I remembered his lips on mine and his hands roaming over me while we swayed to a B.B. King tune. Looking back, it was likely The Thrill is Gone.

  My body reacted to the working of my mind and brought me abruptly to a sitting position.

  You have to quit thinking about this.

  I checked the happy-faced Tigger wind up clock on the bedside table. It was very late, or very early depending on how you looked at it.