by Vicki Batman
My alter ego, perched on my shoulder, said, “But the lonesome tree provides the only bit of shade.”
What the hell. Since I was fully armed, and mostly dangerous with pepper spray, I slotted my car in the spot anyway. With summer almost over, I wouldn’t have to worry about soaring temperatures for much longer. The stores had begun to feature the fall clothing lines, and I had an itch to splurge on a seasonal change.
After opening the office door, I flipped the light switch, and did my quick swat team reconnaissance around the workplace. But no bugger bears jumped out to scare the crap outta me. Deep in my gut, I knew nothing would anyway. In all likelihood, I sensed a lack of familiarity when I worked on a Saturday. After snapping on more lights, I made my way to my desk and turned on the computer.
Nothing happened. I clicked, pushed buttons, and in anger, slapped the top of the monitor and the desktop to make the thing operate. Nothing at all.
Damn. Damn. Damn. I checked the cords plugged into the surge protector. Na da. I followed the thick rope to the wall outlet where I tested the plug. Everything fitted nice and tight. I stomped my foot in irritation, hands on hips. I hated when this happened. Machines were intended to facilitate our work, not make it more difficult.
What the hell is wrong? God. Aggravated didn’t begin to describe how I felt.
Crawling on my hands and knees, I rechecked the plugs at the back of the processing unit. At the sound of the office door closing, I peeked over the desk top and spotted...Opal?
Why is Opal at the office on a Saturday?
Startled by her unexpected appearance, I jolted and bumped the side of my head against the side of the desk. My fingers rubbed the sore spot. She’d said nothing on Friday about coming in today.
Uh oh. I bet Miss Plump-and-Proper wanted to check on me. She thought I fiddly-farted around when she wasn’t present to supervise.
I studied Opal. I don’t know why she seemed so, so scary. Her pompous tone of voice reminded me of Mrs. Phillips, my fourth-grade teacher which, now that I thought about it, was scary, especially at Halloween when she spit plastic roaches into her palm.
Office politics were the pits. On one hand, I could have a dysfunctional childhood issue in dealing with adults. Or maybe I have a confrontational issue. I didn’t want to rock the boat ever. Nevertheless, she had come and needed to be dealt with.
“Howdy, Opal.” I stood, brushing carpet lint from my knees. “Nice to see you.”
“Hello, Hattie.”
Opal and I were having our usual social skill issues, meaning she had few. I tried sucking up. I flashed an impressive, almost brilliantly, freshly-brushed, dazzling smile. Leaning forward, I rested my hands on my desk. “What a nice surprise. Are you behind on work, too? I mean, you’re always so efficient, I wouldn’t have ever thought you’d have to play catch up.”
Plopping in my chair, I waved my hand toward the equipment. “I still can’t get the damn computer to turn on. I’ve checked all of the plugs, all of the outlets, et cetera. Do you know what to do? Did you remember to call the service technicians? Are they coming today?”
Opal’s lack of response led me to assume she must be really angry. I took in her appearance as she made her way to her desk. She needed to evolve. Today, polyester jeans in the University of Texas burnt orange covered her legs and matched a flowered blouse, cut western shirt style. Surely, she could pull together a more pleasing ensemble.
She dragged her chair away from her desk with deliberate care and placed her handbag in the seat. Her fingers played with the perfectly arranged pens and pencils. She extracted her favorite letter opener.
From the corner of my eye, I caught her observing my poor attempts to activate the computer. The blade of the letter opener slapped against the palm of her hand and somehow, she managed to do it without cutting herself.
“No,” she said, “I don’t have to play catch up. You might as well stop playing with the computer. I didn’t call the service technicians.”
My fingers halted their scrambling across the keyboard. Opal didn’t seem to be herself at all. I frowned, trying to figure out why she hadn’t called the repair company. As I blinked a couple of times, I sensed confusion encompass me. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you call? On Friday, we’d agreed you would contact the technicians.”
“I know what the problem is.” Slap-slap sounded the letter opener as the blade hit her hand. She pushed her big butt away from her desk and swished her way to mine.
“Can you fix it? What do we need to do?” I asked. “I’m so illiterate when it comes to computers. I wish I knew better how to repair them. The best I could do was, like I told you, check the cords and the outlets. I’ve pushed all kinds of buttons. I even cursed and slapped the stupid thing. Sorry.”
“I’ll explain.” Opal walked toward me, with an eye on the computer. Unexpectedly, she swung her arm, and the letter opener carved my bicep.
“Ow!” Blood poured from the cut, causing tears to stream from my eyes. Automatically, my other hand closed over the painful wound, squeezing like a tourniquet to staunch the bleeding.
She stepped back to admire her cutwork.
I stared at her, not believing what she’d done. I moved the hand clasped over my arm and took a quick peek. The cut looked big, about three inches in length, and deep, requiring stitches and throbbing with pain. I scooted away from my desk and backed toward the copier. I had to get out of here.
Opal caught the look I shifted to the door and shuffled with surprisingly quick steps to block me.
“What do you think you’re doing, Opal?” I screamed. God, the pain. Little drops of blood seeped from under my grip. “You cut my arm, and it hurts and I’m bleeding. I’m going to the emergency room. I bet I’ll need stitches and a tetanus shot. I know I’m not number one on your hit parade, but you didn’t have to cut me. Now, get outta my way.”
Slap-slap went the letter opener.
Again, she advanced with a look in her eye which definitely was not prim nor proper. Her face looked menacing, evil danced in her eyes. Her grip tightened on the opener as she pointed it in my direction. I swore I saw a drop of my blood on the tip drip to the floor.
“You’ve caused problems from the moment you came to Buy Rite.”
I danced away from her. I surely didn’t want another hack job. Cutting a look to the door, I worried at what she would possibly try next. “Me?”
“You.”
“I don’t think so. I did everything you said to do.” I brushed tears from my cheeks on my lifted shoulder. Red rivers trickled down my arm. The smell was unpleasant. Queasy, my stomach seized.
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yes, I did.”
“I’ve never met such a stupid girl,” she said.
She would not make me feel weak. Would not. I stood fast and firm. “I did! I know I did. I did the copying, the filing, and the data entry. I answered the phone,” I said more to myself as my voice trailed off.
“You did. But you did more.”
“What’s wrong with doing more? Your Guideline #3 said: Show initiative. So I did. I put together a few reports on a couple of problems.”
Tears flooded my eyes which in turn, causing my mascara to dissolve. The sludge burned and obstructed my view.
Like a flash of lightning, she struck at me again.
I noticed in the nick of time and flinched to one side. “Stop it, Opal. Stop hurting me,” I said. “I thought we were friends.”
“Friends?” She pushed her glasses into place. “I could never be friends with someone like you.”
Bloody beads plopped to the floor, leaving splotches on the new oatmeal carpet. I peered at her through my watery eyes. “This is not in my job description.”
“You think you’re so funny.”
“I don’t. I am quitting. You can find some other temporary.”
“You aren’t going anywhere.”
Her laugh carried a wicked tone and frightened me. I had to ge
t out of here. I didn’t think my legs could support me much longer. Allan? “Yes, I am.”
“No, you aren’t. I won’t let you.” And again, she jabbed at me with the sharp opener.
I dodged to my left. Now, I was truly scared. She looked deranged and sounded insane. Her perfectly coiffed page-boy stuck out wildly at the crown. Her eyes had narrowed with intent to kill. How does she get her energy? Why is she angry?
Perhaps if I kept her talking, I could convince her not to hurt me. Or maybe, I would slow her down and get away. I took small rearward movements across the room with quick side-to-side glances to uncover a way to escape. I staggered and reeled through the office, trying to put something in her way to stop her. My backside hit her desk chair, and I circled around it.
I heard the slap-slap of the opener striking her palm as she followed my progress and felt her threat. If only I could knock her to the ground. I said, “Let me go to the hospital, Opal. I’ll say I cut myself on a fence. They’ll believe me. I don’t know what you’ve done, but whatever it is, I won’t tell.”
“I told you, Hattie, you won’t be leaving Buy Rite.”
And now! I grabbed her desk chair and flung it in her direction. My hope and prayer was the chair would knock her down like a bowling pin, and I could run. The chair tripped, flipped, and rolled her way in a clumsy effort.
And missed.
Damn. Desperation inundated me.
Opal moved faster than I gave her credit. She smiled at my failure. Now, she stood closer than ever. Her eyes burned with delirium, reflecting more rage. “Your little stunt didn’t work well, did it? I told you, you won’t be leaving Buy Rite.”
Eventually, she had me backed against Lester’s office door. She struck again, this time nicking my neck. More tears poured. God, I hurt terribly. All the icky bloody stuff made my stomach roil again. My head went woozy and I had a tricky time thinking straight because of the vortex circling through my brain. My body tightened. Crisscrossing my arms, I placed hands on all my cuts. “Opal, why are you doing this? Why are you so angry with me?”
“Why?”
I nodded.
“Because you found the checks.”
I felt clueless in America. “What checks?”
“The settlement checks. How dense can someone be?” Squinting, she leaned forward. “Do I have to spell it out to you?”
I nodded.
“You noticed the amount was different from the appraisal, pointed out the discrepancy to Lester in your reports, and told me about it the other day. Just like June.”
“June? I don’t understand. June is dead.” And then, I knew.
I could see from the gleam flaming in Opal’s eyes she knew I knew. My skin went cold.
“Yes, June Short, our former employee, had figured out everything. Everything. She discovered the check discrepancies and caught Lester writing new ones. She confronted him, saying he skimmed off the settlement claim checks. She called Buy Rite’s internal fraud squad.
“I overheard her accusations. Lester would’ve been exposed, ruining him. He would’ve been thrown in jail, and I couldn’t let something disgraceful happen to him. For more than thirty years, Lester has been an upstanding man, a pillar in the insurance community. He would be...humiliated. June had to be stopped.”
For a moment, Opal ended her tirade. Her eyes glazed over with her bizarre obsession.
I said what was obvious, “You love him.” She didn’t reply. She had to love him. What else would explain why she’d done these terrible things?
“I had to stop her. Lester did this for his family. You’ve seen his fat, slovenly body. His constant chain-smoking. Last week, he was diagnosed with stage-four throat cancer. Only a matter of time before he dies, and he knows the end is near. He wanted to leave his family with a secure future. With this plan, he could. Buy Rite would never know. They would never investigate him. Or maybe he would be dead, and they’d leave him alone.
“But June didn’t care. After work, I’d asked her to stay late and help me fix a claims mess I’d fabricated. I offered her a ride home when she missed her bus. She invited me in for margaritas. I watched her cut and squeeze limes. All the time my head was racing. I acted fast and seized my letter opener. I forced her wrists to the counter. The opener is sharp, very sharp. I scored her wrists with fast slices. The cuts were deep and the blood poured out. She opened her mouth and...” Opal swallowed hard, “she slumped to the floor. I-I watched her lying on the floor, unable to do anything, the blood p-pooling beside her, all life draining away.”
Gradually, her voice grew weaker as the story unfolded. “I couldn’t move. I had-had no idea. She slipped to the floor and died. I didn’t know, didn’t know about all the blood...so fast. I just wanted her to stop. To leave Lester alone.”
She wept openly, the tears flowing freely with her remembrance. With the back of her hand, she swiped them aside. “I cleaned up the limes and drink stuff, wiping down the bottles for prints. After I dipped her paring knife in her blood, I dropped it by her hand. The next day, Lester was concerned. June never missed work; so I pretended to call her at home. I knew she wouldn’t answer. After a while, he made me notify the police who got the property manager to open her apartment. They assumed she’d committed suicide from the slit wrists and her single, solitary lifestyle with only a dog for company.” She shook her head. “Lester never knew, never knew.”
Opal seemed to be visiting la-la land, providing me a small window to edge my feet toward the door. But at my slight movement, I saw her blink and focus again, pointing the letter opener at me. “And you. You’re dating a detective, and according to the paper, the same one who came around Buy Rite, sniffing for information.”
My head went from side to side. I would invent any fabrication to save my skin. “He doesn’t know anything.”
“I doubt it. You’re so much in love, you probably told him everything.”
My mind raced around what I could have said to him, but concentration eluded me.
She pushed her face toward mine. “Haven’t you figured this out?”
I must be stupid because all I could think of was how horrible I hurt and how I wanted to get away. “I haven’t figured anything out.”
“You bimbo. I never wanted to hire you, but Lester did. With June gone, he said I needed help because I’d fallen behind. You...” She stabbed the opener at me.
My reflex turned on, and I jerked back.
“You come in here with your fancy clothes, your cute figure, and hair, exuding your young attitude of ready-to-take-on-the-world. How naïve, how stupid, how sickening.”
Horrified, I stared at her. Opal was batty.
“Lester is skimming money off the claims, particularly the Jeep claims. You discovered the discrepancy and made a report. You threatened to tell the police and the internal squad, just like June. I had to stop you. I tried to scare you away with the punctured tires, but you kept coming back just like a homeless dog begging for a last supper.”
She pushed her chubby body forward. She shoved her hand to my cheek to hold me in place.
I squirmed a bit, but couldn’t move much. I heard the draw of her breath as she lifted the arm which held the sharp opener. Instinctively, I raised my hands high, fingers curled in a claw formation for protection. I thrust one punch, rapidly followed with two more. My foot kicked out.
I missed.
With a loud explosion of wood, the office door burst open. I saw A. Wellborn drop to his left side and roll behind Opal’s desk.
He zoomed in on her with his gun, his aim steady and true. “Police! Opal, drop the knife and back away from Hattie.”
Over her shoulder, she turned her gaze on him for a nanosecond. The smile she gave him was malicious. Just as fast, she returned her attention to me. “Your man of the hour has arrived.”
“It’s all over,” he said, his gaze finding mine, then refocused on her. His hands tightened on the gun. “We know everything. I’m warning you. Drop the knif
e and back away. Let Hattie go. Now.” Standing slowly with his legs spread, he looked in control and sounded every bit a policeman. Briefly, he dipped his head to his right.
I understood his signal and bobbed my head just a tiny bit.
Unexpectedly, he lifted his hands in a surrender posture. His thumb pressed the gun to his palm, a sign of backing off. “Look, Opal. You don’t really want to do this. Put down the weapon. And let’s be done.”
Her nasty smiled deepened.
He took a step forward. “You don’t want to get hurt. You don’t want to hurt Hattie. Let her go.”
She favored me with the vile look, just like the possessed one she’d bestowed on me earlier. Eyes flat, an evil curl to her mouth. She leaned ever-so-slightly toward me. Her breath blew across my face when she said, “Bimbo.”
Her hand holding the letter opener rose.
Repositioning his body, he took aim.
As the letter opener drove down, I jerked from her reach and crashed on my side, landing on my hip.
A. Wellborn shot to kill. The bullet slammed into her head. The impact flung her body backwards. Blood and gray matter exploded from her head, staining the carpet. The letter opener dropped to the floor. Later on in my mind’s rerun, this scene had cop show written over it.
A. Wellborn stole a quick glance my way and then checked on Opal’s dead, dead body.
Scared shitless, I sat up and scooted far, far away. I couldn’t stop weeping and shaking, first with fear, and second, with relief.
I didn’t know gunshots were so loud.
I didn’t know there would be so much blood.
I didn’t know there would be brains.
I didn’t know anything.
Maybe I really was a bimbo. Maybe more stuff was in the big world than what I knew.
Satisfied Opal wouldn’t be going anywhere, A. Wellborn rushed to me, communicating into a radio and requesting an ambulance. He yanked me to my feet. His arms wrapped me close, and he held me tighter than tight.