Disk of Death Read online

  DISK OF DEATH

  BY

  KIM SMITH

  To everyone who has been a Shannon fan, from the beginning until now, thank you!

  CHAPTER 1

  I rifled through documents stacked on the credenza outside my supervisor’s office. My so-called purpose for being there in case anyone passed by and wondered. I could see the office bulletin board now. Shannon Wallace busted for eavesdropping. Call me a jealous girlfriend, call me a terrible employee, but there are some things a woman has to do when dating her boss.

  I’d been working as Rick Fine’s assistant for the last six months. We’d gone out for drinks a few times and had fallen into a work-date relationship that held promise. We both liked wine and football and enjoyed similar taste in music.

  The sound of his pen tapping on the desk in annoyance met my snooping ears. Whoever he conversed with had gotten on his bad side.

  “Yeah, whatever,” Rick mumbled. “It’s 8910 Ethel Cove behind the mailboxes. Don’t be late.” The phone clattered on the cradle, signaling he had disconnected.

  I coughed softly to announce my presence, and he waved me in. Before breezing through the doorway, I took a quick breath and considered the situation. He’d summoned me to his office for an undetermined reason. Did the annoyed tone in his voice have something to do with me? I’d been corrected a few times, but if I had deleted any columns in his Excel spreadsheet again, he would have me for lunch.

  I resisted the urge to stick my finger in my mouth and tear off a nail.

  He leaned back in his executive chair. “How long have you been out there?”

  “Not long. You made it sound urgent.”

  “Yeah. No time like the present. I’ve got to go out so might as well make this brief.”

  I shifted my feet a little, taking inventory. No welcoming smile, no jovial invitation to sit and chat, which we had done on a number of occasions. Today he wore that superior look on his face that I hated. The look that screamed position and authority.

  “I take it you’re not going to make it for Friday date night?”

  He scowled. “Probably not.”

  That was enough. Better just get down to business and get the hell out of his office. If he wanted to be a grouch, he could do it alone. “Well, here I am. What did you need?”

  “Thanks for being so prompt.” He stood, snagged his suit coat from the back of his chair, and shrugged it on. “You’re always there right when you’re called, aren’t you?” The detached way he spoke unnerved me.

  “I try.”

  “Yeah, you do. Which makes this stuff I am about to throw at you even harder.” He tugged on the sleeves.

  My stomach knotted. “What’s up?”

  “You’re fired.” He stapled me into place with his baby blues. “You can pick up your last check from Payroll.”

  “Are you kidding? What did I do?” I stared at him, doing my best to sniff out the joke.

  He sank back into his chair with a defeated air. “Sorry.”

  This was no joke.

  The ecru-colored carpet blurred as I tried to focus on something. My heart pounded so hard that I couldn’t hear anything else. “Did I forget a journal entry or mess up one of your spreadsheets? What?”

  “Let’s don’t make a scene, okay? I’ll see to it that you get a good severance package. A little something to take the sting out of it. And a good reference.”

  I gazed at the fake Ming vase on the side table. I wanted to rush over, grab it, and fling it at his head. “What did I do? Why are you firing me?”

  He avoided making eye contact and patted his pockets, feeling for his car keys. “Call it downsizing.”

  “Would you stop fooling around?” I pleaded. “Quit avoiding the questions. I want to know what this is all about. Is it because of—?” I lowered my voice. “Us?” Had some busybody talked to the board?

  “You’re a nice girl, Shannon. A little naive but nice. We’ve had some fun, but it’s probably lasted too long. Circumstances like this happen in business environments. Here today, gone tomorrow. There’s no ‘us’. Not anymore. Let’s not fool ourselves. If you think about it, you’ll agree it’s best to keep it that way. Better if you just go out with style. Stoic and proud.”

  Proud of what?

  My blood pressure skyrocketed. Whispered stories in the filing room returned to haunt me. Rick’s reputation marked him as a major player. Of course, I’d scoffed at it.

  Yeah, right.

  My Aunt Nancy always said a woman should never have to use her body for persuasion. Too late now. My ruination loomed, imminent.

  I leaned over the solid pine, double pedestal desk, giving him an eyeful of what rested beneath my sheer, low-cut blouse. I crooked my finger, tempting him to move closer.

  He rose slightly, his eyes darting from my chest to my face.

  Once I had his attention, I slapped him as hard as I could. “Stoic that, you asshole. I hope you choke and die! No wait, dying is too good for you.”

  His face changed from bitch-slapped red to purple.

  I did the most prudent thing possible. I stomped off. Well, as much as one could stomp in stilettos.

  At my desk, I tucked purse, cell phone, and insulated lunch bag into my canvas tote. There was very little at Fine, Fine, Fine Furnishings that belonged to me, and with the termination of job and boyfriend, now even less.

  As a grand finale, I ripped the plastic name plate off the flimsy material covering the cubicle and clattered down the tiled hall to Payroll. I collected the check that Rick had already ordered cut for me and left to get wobbly-ass drunk.

  Chapter 2

  August in the Mid-South is like living in the tropics. The crepe myrtles bloom in fuchsia and pink and old people perch like lazy flies on white wicker swings. Cane chairs appear on porches alongside tables covered with lemonade pitchers.

  In every neighborhood folded fans open to gently wave at the heat, and everyone talks about the weather. No one moves too much or too fast, thanks to the humidity, which turns everything into a condensation-streaked wonderland even before daybreak.

  Here, the firmest hair spray is reduced to damp stickiness, the best laid plans are set aside until evening, and the most even-tempered person would contemplate murdering their friend.

  Breaking the summer tradition of idling on some cool porch, I hurried from the building to my car and hoped the effects of an air conditioned office wouldn’t fade away too soon. Not that hurrying would help. The interior of every car parked outside likely registered well over two hundred degrees. In this heat, to touch a vinyl or leather steering wheel would require hefty gloves.

  I waited with all four windows down while the air blasted through my blue 1985 Cougar, a gift from my aunties. Beggars really can’t afford to be picky, I know. But it was tough to ignore the looks people gave me when I sidled up next to them on the highway. Being employed by Fine had been my chance at a new car soon.

  I sighed and bowed my head. Crying would be useless at this point.

  It is what it is.

  Everyone headed to the glimmering lights of Memphis on Friday nights, but I just couldn’t do the dinner and date scene in my current state of mind. Instead, I decided to head south to the casinos where a numbing shot of something and a change in scenery might make me forget Rick Fine and my damaged ego. Once inside the bright lights and loud music that made up the casino, I would lose track of time. Bury my sorrows in forgetfulness.

  I dug around in my miniature excuse for a purse for a pair of sunglasses. The handbag’s pink sequins shimmered in the late afternoon sun and would fit right in under the casino’s bright lights.

  As I backed out of the parking lot, I caught my reflection in the rear-view mirror. The circles under my eyes stood o
ut like a scarlet letter. I hadn’t slept in my bed—or my own apartment—for a while. Then abruptly last week, Rick suggested I spend a few nights at home to stop his neighbors from gossiping about the new woman in his life.

  Yeah, right.

  Now I saw it for what it was. Another check mark under seriously stupid on my part. I hit the steering wheel with the heels of both hands. What a fool I’d been.

  Six months ago I met Rick at a party given by mutual friends. The trust from my parent’s estate had just settled for me to receive my inheritance when I turned twenty-five. The money, though minimal, helped me get started in my own place, free from the raised eyebrows and clucking tongues of my guardians, my two aunties, Tillie and Nancy.

  All I needed was a meaningful job and a love relationship. Rick provided both. At his family’s furniture store, Fine, Fine, Fine Furnishings, he gave me a job in the office and helped me buy a chair and love seat.

  Six months no interest, same as cash.

  Then he decided we should christen the chair and the love seat on the same weekend. The images flooded my overwrought brain, and my cheeks grew hot. He definitely knew how to do furniture.

  I shrugged off the memory and turned onto the highway heading south, where nothing but furrowed fields lined either side. Cotton had been king at one time, but now rice took center stage. The acres stretched out in emerald trenches, and the sun glinted off the water required to help it grow. No matter how hot the summer, the rice fields stayed lush and verdant.

  I whipped out my cell phone and called a few people in my contact list. It would be a lot more fun if someone who sympathized with me wanted to hang out with. Someone who understood what losing a job, or a boyfriend, was like. Although few would understand the devastation of simultaneously losing both.

  But everyone I called either still remained at work and couldn’t talk, or had already made plans for Friday night. I considered people I hadn’t seen in a while, and then I remembered Dwayne, a friend from college who always had money and liked to party. We’d lost touch over the last year, but I still had his number. I scanned through the contact list then dialed him up.

  “Wall-ass! Lord have mercy, girl. Where you been hiding yourself?”

  “I know, right? Geez, why haven’t you looked me up? I’ve been working, Dee. Earning a living. You know what a job is yet?”

  He laughed. “Hell, I’ve been here, there, and everywhere. How long has it been? A year?”

  “Yeah, about that.”

  “Uh huh. Last time I landed eyes on your scrawny ass, you wore a broomstick skirt and was praying for a job.”

  “Yeah, that’s true.” Not much had changed. “What are you doing tonight?”

  “Not a damn thing. You wanna get together and catch up?”

  “Yes, I’d love to.”

  “Where?”

  “How about the Troll down in Tunica?”

  “Oh yeah, girl. Works for me. How about seven?”

  “Cool. I’ll be watching for you.”

  We disconnected, and I relaxed for the first time all day. In thirty minutes, I arrived at the Troll Casino and Gambling Hall, home of the Lucky Troll. After parking, I reapplied mascara and lipstick. And wondered why Rick had dumped me. Had he found someone else? Didn’t he care that my life was going to be flipped upside down from all this?

  Tears welled in my eyes, and I swallowed hard. What the hell would I do now?

  “Shit.” I wiped my eyes and tried to put makeup on once again, forcing my pain to ice over. Apparently women had to wear a suit of armor during an emotional battle.

  Be tough, be strong.

  Rick’s words about being stoic and proud returned to mind. He’d probably had a lot of practice using those words.

  I stared in the mirror and gave myself a stern talking to. There was nothing to be ashamed of. It wasn’t my fault Rick had lost his mind. I would give him a few days, let him cool off. Maybe he would change his mind. Tonight would be my only pity party.

  With a huge sigh, I got out of the car and straightened my skirt. God help any man who tried to hit on me tonight. My armor might be dented at the moment, but it was still there.

  I strode the short distance to the doors. Outside, a big statue of a bare-bellied, goofy-looking troll held up a sign which read, Kiss the Troll’s Belly for Luck. I sneered as I pulled open the doors.

  Once inside the frigid, smoke-filled room, I stopped for a moment to look around and find the nearest bar. An announcer called for everyone to get his or her entries in for the Friday night drawing, which would commence in ten minutes.

  I guess I looked lost because a woman with platinum-colored hair waved me over to the courtesy counter. “Ya got a player card, honey?”

  “Not lately.”

  “Well, ya gotta have one of them to win the drawing. It’s for five thousand dollars. What’s your name?”

  “Shannon Wallace.”

  She commenced to tapping on keys. “Oh? Like Braveheart. Ya know, the movie? Is William Wallace one of your ancestors? I love that Mel Gibson. He looks real good in a kilt.”

  “William Wallace? Um, I don’t know.” I hadn’t seen the movie, but I’d been told it was extremely long. Too long for me to sit still, even for streaming from some online place.

  The lady talked and typed at top speed. “Bloody movie, but I loved it. Address? City and zip?”

  I handed over my driver’s license, and in a few seconds she produced a plastic card with my name and a number embossed on it. “Here ya go. I already entered you for the seven o’clock. All ya gotta do after that is come by the swiping station before the next drawing. There’s one every hour until midnight.”

  I took my license and the player’s card, thanked her, and headed for the bar. I slipped into the empty chair between two couples. One pair giggled over something, and the other pair focused on their video poker game. Apparently they were winning because she kept squealing like Aunt Tillie’s wheelbarrow.

  My name wasn’t called at the seven o’clock drawing, so I sipped another margarita until the announcer began reminding people to get their cards swiped. Drink in hand, I slid off the stool and headed for the front courtesy counter. While standing in line waiting for my turn at the swiping station, I saw Dwayne. He hadn’t changed a bit. He was still a six-foot-four black beanpole with attitude.

  “What’s the hold up?” he complained over the heads of the people. “A herd of Herefords moves quicker.”

  I strolled forward a few paces and pulled on the sleeve of his silky shirt.

  He whirled around. “Wall-ass!” he yelled, pulling me into a one-armed hug. “You are looking fine as wine.”

  “Hey Dee,” I said, stepping away from him a little. He reeked of alcohol. “How’s life?”

  He put a hand over his heart in a sign of hope. “Life is good. And you? Please tell me you got that fancy office you wanted.”

  The crowd inched forward before I could reply. He stepped up to the counter and flipped his card through. I followed suit, and we both got out of line.

  “No. No fancy office,” I told him, wiping at the moisture on my margarita glass. We had once discussed having corner offices in a company as part of our future plans. The mere thought of it now made me sick. “You want to grab a fresh drink before the drawing?”

  He nodded, and we proceeded to the bar nearest the announcer’s stand. Big screen televisions flashed recaps from the sports of the day. We perched on stools and discussed events of our lives.

  “I’m doing all right,” Dwayne declared. “I got my own business now.” At my surprised look, he continued. “Yeah honey. An office in Cordova and a man secretary to toast my bagels. I ain’t sure yet, but I think I died and went to heaven.”

  I laughed. Same old Dwayne. “I guess you come down here a lot then, huh, Mr. Struck-It-Rich?”

  “Yeah, I gotta come down here on Friday nights to get rid of my fortune before some unworthy male lusting after me gets it. I was almost in my car when yo
u called.”

  I giggled. “That’s great. What sort of business is it?”

  “Private investigator. It’s the shit, girl, I’m telling ya. Who woulda ever thought hicks from the sticks would do so well?”

  “Being from the sticks was never holding you back, Dwayne. But, wow, I never figured you for that kind of work. Kinda dangerous, isn’t it?”

  “Naw. I watch myself, you know what I’m saying?” He handed me a gold business card with his name and number printed in black. Dwayne Brown, Private Investigations. Impressive. His teeth gleamed beneath his mustache. “You need a private dick, Shan?”

  “Not right now I don’t. But when I do, you’re my man.” I smiled at him.

  His brown eyes sized me up, and his expression changed.

  I looked away. Dwayne had never been a slouch at perception.

  He spoke, his voice curious and sympathetic. “Now I know I ain’t seen you in a while, but something is different. You got a sad, puppy-dog look, you’re dressed too office chic, and you look like you done lost your best friend.”

  I started to put him off but remembered our history. After coming out to me, he’d cried on my shoulder over a date gone wrong. It hadn’t really helped any that he’d downed ten Mai Tais at a place called Chi-Chi’s Cha-Cha Bar. I recalled with chagrin that he’d confessed to puking all over his new fling while they were engaged in a situation resembling Twister. He would certainly understand my dilemma, wouldn’t he?

  I decided to unload. “Oh hell, Dwayne. My life’s a mess. As of today, I’m unemployed. Fired. And the man who fired me was my boyfriend, so now that’s past tense, too.”

  “That’s just wrong.” He shook his head and peered into his glass. “Who’s the has-been?”

  I eye-balled the little man who had been calling out the winner’s names. He headed toward the stage. “Rick Fine, the Fine, Fine, Fine Furnishings man? You’ve probably seen him on the commercials. His family must have a gazillion stores.”

  Dwayne frowned. “Is he the weasel-looking dude who screams the whole time?”