Disk of Death

by Kim Smith

  Fear welled in my throat. It was definitely a man and he had put the flowers with a bomb under my car. I pulled up the last call received list. It wasn’t a known number. I dialed it. No answer. With my heartbeat pounding, I shoved my phone into my bag. Dwayne’s conversation went on, and I waited for an opening to drag him away.

  The apartment lady said, “Of course, it could have been someone else, but that guy, well he was really scary, and maybe he thought he had a reason. You know what I mean?”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean, scary grass cutting guy,” Dwayne agreed as he gave me an inquiring look. I tilted my head to indicate we needed to go.

  He smiled and turned back to the woman. “Rest assured we’re working on it, and you know, your opinion just might crack the case. Thanks for all your input. We’ll keep you in mind if we have more questions.”

  “We have to go,” I said, tugging on his arm. He waved goodbye, and we strode outside.

  “What?” he asked. “I was making friends and influencing people.”

  “He just called me again,” I told him.

  “Who? Salivate?”

  “It’s Salvador, and no, it was the guy.”

  “The guy? You mean Killer Dude? What did he say?”

  “He wanted to make sure I got his flowers.” I swallowed to steady the waver in my voice.

  “Great. A killer with a flair for the weird. Have you even checked in your phone to see if it’s a number you recognize?”

  “What, do you think I’m stupid? Of course I did, and it’s not.” I slammed the car door. “Obviously, he means to shake me up, make me run scared. When I was a kid, I was scared that tornadoes were going to get me. This feeling is exactly the same.”

  Dwayne got in and sat back, thinking. “Well, if he knows where you live, I wonder if he knows where you live when you live with me?”

  Hoping to allay his fears, I shook my head and said, “Nah. I don’t think so. Not yet anyway.”

  I put my seat belt on and said a silent prayer to be good as gold if God would only honor keeping my loved ones safe. I didn’t want harm or danger to darken Dwayne’s life, or the life of anyone else

  close to me.

  He started the car, and I closed my eyes against the late afternoon sun. Eventually, I would have to go back home. I couldn’t stay with Dwayne much longer even if he did have a gun. The psycho after me would not flinch at killing again.

  I remembered what the woman at the leasing office said. Could the grass people have been involved in the stabbing? Rick was famous for having a fit and falling in it. I used to hear him behind the closed doors of the conference room at management meetings. He was pretty easy-going and friendly until you infringed on his or his company’s money.

  “What she said back there explains how the killer got in,” Dwayne said, reading my mind as he pulled out of the complex. “Your man’s window got broke.”

  “Yeah, and it also tells me you need to keep alert when following Redmon’s woman around. She obviously has male protection.”

  “Think this lady might have been onto something?”

  I shrugged. “Who knows? Rick hated inefficiency. He might have incited the guy to come back.”

  “But was an argument over a window enough to make him come back and kill? Seems like he’d just be pissed off, maybe fistfight over it, or beat Rick to a pulp,” Dwayne stated, gazing forward, hands on the steering wheel. “I don’t see such a deal endin’ in a knifing. But I ain’t a cop. I don’t see anger put to action every day.”

  I didn’t answer. I was able to imagine it, and the vision unsettled me.

  He glanced over at me a couple of times. “You thinking again?”

  “What?”

  “I see ideas in your head circling around like bicycle spokes.”

  “I’m trying to decide if the grass guy could have done it. If he did, that means it’s him calling me because the killer took the address book. I’m sure of it.”

  “Yeah, but what would he want with your videos, if the killer really and truly took them?”

  “Yeah, and why anything else too? What would make the guy throw away his life, his freedom, over a damn window? And, why would he be bothering with me now?”

  “He might be a crack-head. People do stupid shit for drugs. Maybe he was cracked out, flipped on his computer, saw you doing the wild thang? Intrigued, he starts calling up everybody in Rick’s little black book.”

  I thought about that. “You think the killer is on drugs?”

  “Could be. Drugs’ll make you do shit you wouldn’t normally do.”

  “Great. And if the killer is the grass guy, he’s allegedly involved with Redmon’s wife. If we’re watching these folks, you better have your little pistol handy. I don’t cotton to some knife-toting drugged-out slob hunting me down. In fact, I need to get a gun of my own.”

  He shook his head, eyes trained on traffic. “No. Hell, no.”

  “Why not?”

  “Lordy mercy, Wall-ass. I’m more scared of putting a gun in your hands than of facing three killers with machetes.”

  “Gee thanks.”

  “Hey, I can’t help you can’t walk and chew bubble gum at the same time. Remember the time you fell down the stairs between Psychology and Business Math?”

  “That was Debbie’s fault. She tripped me.”

  “And you’ll blame me for shooting yourself in the foot just because I helped you pick it out.”

  I giggled. “Nuh uh.”

  He fell silent, and I let him digest the idea.

  I wondered if more info on the landscapers would be in Rick’s computer at the office. I also wondered if Charlie knew about the Straw Hat people. It would be interesting if the same folks did landscaping for Fine, Fine Furnishings. They had more than one store in town. Maybe they needed grass cut during the summer? If there was a connection between Charlie and the fellow who had fought with Rick, I would probably scream ‘bingo’.

  I pulled out my cell phone and looked up Mr. Fine’s number.

  He answered quickly. “Hello?”

  “Mr. Fine? This is Shannon Wallace.”

  “Shannon, how nice to hear from you. How are you my dear?”

  “I’m making it, sir. I’m sorry to bother you at home and all, but I wondered if I could possibly get into Rick’s office and get on his computer sometime soon?”

  He paused. “Why?”

  “I think there may be something in there. Maybe a clue to his murder.”

  “The police have already gone through his office. I doubt they’ve left any stone unturned.”

  “I still think I might find something they overlooked, sir. I think I would, I really do.”

  “What do you think they’ve missed?”

  “I don’t know. A name or an address, maybe? I just know I’ll recognize it for what it is when I see it.”

  He didn’t sound aggravated, but I was afraid such gray reasoning would push some buttons. I didn’t want to tell him anything until I had something concrete. He might want to call Sal and I didn’t want to face him until I was sure of my hunch.

  “I won’t take long,” I added, wheedling.

  “You’ll have to come early before anyone gets in.”

  “Yes sir, that’s fine.”

  “I’ll meet you there tomorrow, six o’clock sharp.”

  “Okay. Thank you. And Mr. Fine, I’ll be discreet. I know you have a lot of struggles ahead of you with Rick gone. I don’t want to make it worse. I just think that if there is a clue to who killed him, he would want us to try to find it.”

  “You may be right, my dear. You may be right.”

  “Mr. Fine, at the funeral you were about to say something to me about Rick. Do you remember what I’m talking about?”

  “Yes, but I would rather discuss it in person.”

  “Okay. I’ll leave it at that then. See you tomorrow.”

  We disconnected, and Dwayne let out his breath in a long huff. “On second thought, I see righ
t now I better get you a womanly piece and find some range to take you to.”

  I perked up. “A gun? Really? You mean it?”

  He gave me a pained look. “No, Wall-ass, I secretly want to have to identify your ass at the morgue. Yes, I mean it.”

  “Wow, a real live freaking gun?”

  He looked skyward. “Lord Jesus, what am I thinking?”

  Chapter 12

  Although it was close to five in the evening, Dwayne decided to postpone working the Redmon case to take me to a new gun shop in town. In Dwayne’s estimation, my need for protection outweighed Redmon’s need to catch his cheating wife.

  The Gun Exchange was on the west side of town next door to a Japanese steakhouse and an ice cream shop called Bradley’s. The buildings were single level brick joints with huge plate glass windows covered in signs.

  I drooled over the ice cream, longed for fried rice, and shook in my size six shoes as Dwayne held the door for me.

  The man behind the counter smiled. “What y’all looking for today?”

  I glanced at Dwayne. He knew my ignorance about weapons.

  “Looking for a piece for my girl here. You got anything small, easy to handle?”

  “Sure do. Look right over here,” the man answered, strolling to the far end of the counter where the handguns were under safety glass. He pulled out a small, black pistol that resembled Dwayne’s.

  “This one’ll do the trick,” he said, nodding at me to take the gun.

  I didn’t know what else to do, so I accepted it. It was lighter than I expected and felt strange in my hands. Foreign, but somehow fitting.

  “Um,” I mumbled, turning it over and back.

  Dwayne peered down at me. “What do you think?”

  “It’s nice.”

  He took the gun. “Nice? Hell, girl, guns ain’t nice. Lemme see it.”

  I watched as he went over it, sliding the safety off, testing the trigger. Finally, he handed it back to the guy and turned to me. “That’s about as close as you’re gonna get. Pay the man.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I fumbled around in my purse for my wallet while the man grabbed a few forms and a box. “I just need to run a check on ya, but that don’t take much.”

  I handed him my debit card and in less than an hour, I was a proud handgun owner. The shop owner warned me against carrying concealed anywhere but at home, in my car, or at my place of business, and smiled as we strolled out.

  My whole body vibrated with excitement.

  “What does carrying concealed mean actually?” I asked Dwayne when I could formulate a thought.

  He scratched his chin. “Don’t take it to the club in your purse.”

  “I don’t go to clubs.”

  “The casino then.”

  I was still terrified of using a gun but sort of excited that I had it. What would Katie think when she found out? We had shopped for clothes before she left for Ireland, and she would be amazed to see the new accessory I had just added.

  Then on the heels of that thought came another one roaring through my head like a freight train. What would the Mamas think? My dear little aunties would never understand why a woman wanted a handgun. They still existed in the world of the fifties where the most dangerous thing was wearing short skirts. They didn’t know the full scope of danger I was in at the moment either. Better leave off telling them anything just yet. Dread of their shocked faces filled me, and instantly, I wanted chocolate.

  I talked Dwayne into an ice cream cone, and we walked over.

  Bradley’s is the sort of place where you either eat standing outside the walk-up window, or you eat your cone in your car. Very few places to sit had been provided for the customers licking their way to frozen concoction heaven. Not that it mattered to me on such a hot day. I enjoyed standing, watching traffic, and savoring a Chocolate, Chocolate Mint Chip in a waffle cone. Especially when Dwayne was paying.

  “This is gonna make us both cows,” he observed, licking at a huge dollop of vanilla ice cream threatening to land on his shoe. “And chocolate makes your face break out in whelps.”

  I frowned. “Whelps are puppies, you mean welts. And I haven’t had a breakout like that since college. It wasn’t ice cream either. It was raspberries. I’m allergic.”

  He went to the window to ask for napkins.

  I squinted at the mid-afternoon sun and watched cars drive by on Greenman Road. A few beeped their horns at a sign near the street soliciting honks for ice cream lovers.

  A small car slowed as it approached the entrance to the drive-through. I thought it was turning in until the driver’s window lowered and a gun appeared.

  Dwayne screamed, “Get down!” and we both hit the ground. Bullets pelted the wooden rail and brick wall around the eatery’s courtyard just before the car roared off down Greenman.

  Dwayne yelled at me. “Shannon! You okay? You okay?”

  “Oh my God! I’m okay. Are you okay?”

  “I think so,” he muttered, rising.

  We brushed ourselves off. Dwayne’s hand shook as he holstered his gun under his pant leg.

  “I didn’t even think of my gun,” I admitted, scrubbing my face with my hands. “It happened so fast.”

  Dwayne clucked in disgust at his mangled cone. “That’s what they wanted. The element of surprise. The lousy bastards. Damn. Come on, let’s check on everyone.”

  We went back to the window to ask if anyone had been hurt.

  “No, thank God,” a young man in a white apron said, wiping his face on his tee shirt sleeve. “Wait until the owner hears about this.”

  The young man told Dwayne he thought the car was a Toyota. But they were as taken by surprise as we had been, and the car had accelerated before they could get a clear view. No definite make on the car.

  A couple of the girls were huddled in the small office to the back of the building, crying. I went to the back door and stuck my head in to reassure them. They had called the cops, and I heard the wail of sirens coming up Greenman.

  We sat on the benches and answered all the questions the cops had. I wasn’t surprised when Sal pulled into the lot.

  I kept my eyes glued to the ground when he walked up. His tan loafers filled my view.

  “Well?” he asked.

  “Shots out of a Toyota. Happened real quick. No, we did not see anything else. We were too busy trying to keep from getting dead,” said Dwayne, man of few words.

  “Anyone hurt?”

  I ventured a glance. He was writing in a small spiral notebook. “No. No one hurt.” My voice sounded tinny, like I was a doll speaking through a box on her back.

  “You got any thoughts?” Sal asked. It was spoken to no one in particular, and he didn’t even spare a smirk at us.

  I stood. He was taller than me, so I had to tilt my head back to look at him. Taking such a stance with a cop took a lot of guts. Especially with this one. “Just one thought.”

  Now he had to look at me. No words were necessary, I could see the question in his eyes.

  “Find this creep before someone else gets killed,” I said, as deadpan as I could muster. Then, I turned away and walked toward the car. I dared him to stop me. Dwayne babbled something behind me and then scampered along catching me in a few strides.

  “What did you say to Sal?” I whispered to him as he brushed past.

  “Nice seeing you again,” he answered, chirping his door release button.

  The adrenaline rush didn’t start until we were well away from Bradley’s and the incident had begun to sink in. This fool was not playing anymore. I rubbed my arms with my shaking hands and tried to understand what made people kill.

  Dwayne drove us to his trailer and filled the worried silence with silly conversation trying to distract me, like taking a child to a park to forget a scary movie.

  “You know Wall-ass, that dude probably thought you were some Mafia woman.”

  “What? I don’t think I like being called that.”

  “Yeah, in t
hat black get-up you got on, you kinda look dangerous. In a Cat Woman kinda way.”

  I glanced down at my skirt. It was wrinkled from sitting in the car. “Yeah. I’ll bet everyone is wondering what Cat Woman is doing with Blade,” I commented as I caught the glimmer of a smile. “You don’t have to keep talking on my account, Dwayne. I’m okay. I just wonder why he missed. I mean, I was there in his direct line of fire.”

  Before he could reply, his cell phone gave off tunes from Rocky Horror Picture Show. He answered it and said ‘yeah’ about fifteen times before clicking off.

  He grinned. “Come on. I’m taking you home. Puh-lease change clothes. Wear something else black and dangerous but worthy of a stake-out. That was Clareta.”

  “Oh, she got the number? So?”

  “Charles Fine’s house, here we come.”

  I inclined my head toward him. “Damn, I’m losing my nerve, Dwayne. I was just shot at. All I want is my sex videos - not to single-handedly bring down a murderer, and if Charlie’s the one, well, even more so.”

  “What am I? Canned ham? I was shot at, too, remember? Besides, we know a cop, don’t we? Ole Sal is our ace in the hole if we get caught. It’s called a professional courtesy. You know, like doctors. Cops are like doctors, you know, always patching stuff up for friends. We ain’t gonna get shot because we ain’t gonna be seen. Blade and Cat Woman, that’s us.” He was babbling. A sure sign of nerves.

  I didn’t answer.

  “You wanna find out if he’s the one, right?”

  I nodded.

  “All right then. We’re going hunting.”

  I grimaced. I hated when he concocted the game plan, hated when it was a good one, and really hated when his suspicions were spot on.

  Evening had settled in when we drove by Charlie’s the first time. His neighborhood sat across the Mississippi state line on the eastern edge of Memphis.

  A huge tree spread its branches over the roof of Charlie’s house hiding the front of it. The garage door was down, and no lights shone from any of the front windows. Charlie was either missing or in bed. Maybe with Charlotte Dillon. Or maybe they were at her house.