Simon Wood

by Accidents Waiting to Happen

  Behan jumped in his chair. He spoke again, this time with the corporate voice torn away. "Shit, Josh. You've been accused of taking a payoff on a previous job. People's safety could be at risk and you overlooked that in favor of a chunk of money."

  "You have no fucking idea of the situation," Josh spat.

  "Okay. You're right. I don't. I have no idea of the circumstances of your guilt or innocence. But I do know I have a responsibility, and it's hard to carry it off when I have my procurement manager's name splashed over the news. The press has been calling here."

  Josh stared hard into the table's polished wood surface and gazed at his reflection. The surface twisted his features and his baleful gaze threatened to burn holes in the table. Behan spoke again and Josh met his eyes.

  "Josh, you'll have to deal with vendors who'll be wondering whether they've lost contracts to a payoff or will gain new ones if they offer you a bribe."

  "You don't know that. You don't know that our suppliers will think any differently."

  "I do," Behan said softly, but with the impact of a sledgehammer. "I thought it and human nature tells me others will too. I can't have that.. . neither can the CEO of this company. This comes all the way from the top with no disagreements. I'm sorry, Josh. I truly am."

  Josh struggled for something to say, but the words failed to come. The next bad thing had been duly received.

  He understood the company position, but their distance mortally wounded him. He was against the ropes and another of his seconds had disappeared into the crowd, leaving him to his disgrace. Finally, the words came.

  He said, "So I'm fired."

  "No, I'm not doing that. I'm suspending you."

  "But what image does that portray? It assures people of my guilt."

  "I'm sorry, Josh, it's the best I can do. I've agreed to a suspension with pay, but if you are formally charged, I will have to terminate your employment here."

  He wanted to say it felt like a sentence had already been passed. "That could be a long time, Mike. I have a family."

  "I know that, but there's little I can do."

  "Or want to," Josh interrupted.

  "Hey, that's unfair," Behan said. "You brought this on yourself."

  "Okay, okay, but it depends on what side of the table you're sitting at, doesn't it?"

  "I suggest you go home and work on getting these allegations cleared up and come back to me when they are."

  Silently, Josh fumed.

  "I'll get Jenny to escort you off the premises." Behan reached for the phone.

  "Christ, Mike. Escort me off the premises? I'm not going to do anything. Give me some credit. I'll go, but don't make me look like a criminal doing it." Anguish filled his throat and Josh spoke in a hoarse whisper.

  Phone in hand, Behan hesitated, but returned the phone to its receiver. "Okay, Josh. Call me when this is cleared up. I'm here for you."

  Josh got up and tottered to the door on legs that

  dissolved with every step. The sentiment seemed hollow to him. The son of a bitch was just doing his job and nothing more. He twisted the door handle to leave.

  "Josh--is there anything you can tell me?"

  Josh looked over his shoulder. Behan seemed small in his big leather chair and looked like a disobedient child waiting for punishment outside the principal's office.

  He imagined Behan swinging his legs to and fro, anxiously waiting for his name to be called. He almost laughed.

  "No, Mike. I can't say anything. Anything I say may be used against me in a court of law."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  His ex-coworkers were ready for him the moment he left Behan's office. The corporate grapevine must have glowed red with news of his demise. They watched him trudge back through the halls, never once engaging him. Being gawked at by all the knowing faces was more than he could bear. It was a relief to be back in his office where he could hide. Josh pulled open his desk drawers and removed his personal possessions.

  Jenny

  entered his office and immediately burst into tears. "I'm so sorry, Josh."

  Josh went over to her and put a comforting arm around the tall woman. "It's okay."

  "But I knew what they were going to do. I should have told you," she said through the tears.

  "It's not important." Strangely, it wasn't. A month ago the suspension would have been the supreme downfall in his life but now it was an inconvenience, just another nail in the coffin of normality in Josh Michaels's life. It wasn't great, but it wasn't the end of the world.

  Certain elements in his life had the ability to bring about a personal apocalypse, but losing his job wasn't one.

  Jenny regained her composure and left his office. She returned with a cardboard storage box and helped Josh pack his things. He doubted he would return.

  On the drive home, he considered his downfall. He felt himself cowering under the volley of stones thrown at him. It was time he started lobbing a few rocks himself.

  Who would be first?

  He pulled up in front of his garage and got out of the car. At this time in the afternoon, a quiet had fallen over his street. It was a place between events, the time of day when kids were at school and parents were either at work or on their way to collect their children.

  Screams, shouts and laughter from a neighborhood school less than a mile away carried easily on the afternoon breeze.

  Josh went to the passenger side of the car and clumsily removed the cardboard storage box. The box contained the possessions from his office he wanted to keep--framed photographs, a mug from Abby with a picture of his plane on it, an expensive Parker pen from Kate and other personal belongings.

  After locking the car, he carried the file box to the front door. Awkwardly, he tried to open the door with the box in his arms. He managed it with some effort and dexterity. The door clicked open and he knocked the door ajar with his knee. Just as he stepped inside, someone called him back.

  "Mr. Michaels . . . Mr. Joshua Michaels?" the man asked.

  Josh didn't recognize the man walking up the path toward him. He was a big man with an army-style haircut wearing a cheap sport jacket and non-matching pants.

  You're either a cop or another reporter. Please be neither. "Yeah, I'm Josh Michaels. What can I do for you?"

  "I wonder if I could have a moment of your time, sir." The stranger dug inside his jacket for something and produced a wallet, flashed a shield and returned it to his jacket pocket before he reached Josh. "Lieutenant Tom Jenks, Sacramento Police Department."

  Bingo, my day keeps getting better and better. He had guessed right--his visitor was a cop. Maybe he wouldn't get his chance to fight back today. It was another banana peel he hadn't seen until it was too late.

  He nodded to the policeman.

  Jenks stopped about one pace too close for Josh's liking.

  The encroachment into his personal space made him take one step back, and he backed into the door. It shuddered open. Imperceptibly, Josh stumbled, but regained his poise.

  "You'd better come in," Josh said.

  "Thank you, sir." The detective followed Josh into his house.

  Josh placed the box on the floor next to the living room doorway, then gave the lieutenant his full attention.

  "What can I help you with today?"

  "I would like you to accompany me, sir."

  "Where to?"

  "I would prefer to show you at this point."

  "What's it in connection with?"

  Jenks sighed. "All will become clear later. If we could make a move, I would appreciate it, sir."

  Josh narrowed his eyes. Why doesn't he just drop the cloak and dagger stuff and spit it out? It had taken this cop sixty seconds to piss him off. "Is this to do with Margaret Macey?"

  "Sir, can we go? I don't have all day." Jenks extended an arm and showed Josh the way out from his own home.

  "I'll write my wife a note first."

  "That won't be necessary." He saw Josh's frown.

&
nbsp; "We won't be long."

  Josh didn't like being bullied, but he wasn't in the police's good books as it stood, so he didn't see the point in antagonizing them any further. He followed Jenks out the open front door to his car, a new Chevy Malibu. They got in the Malibu and pulled away from the curb.

  "Am I under arrest?" Josh asked.

  "No, sir. All will become apparent very soon."

  Some of these guys really get off on their jobs. This is probably some technique for sweating the suspect. He was convinced this had something to do with either Margaret Macey or the Dixon development. The cops were just dying for him to incriminate himself. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction. He settled back to enjoy the ride.

  After several moments of quiet, Josh noticed the car didn't have a police radio or any other police equipment, for that matter. He hadn't been in enough cop cars to be sure, but that didn't seem right. He shifted in his seat. "Where's your police radio?"

  Jenks shot Josh a look, then glanced at the space where Josh was staring, the place where the police radio should be. "It's a new car--I only picked it up today.

  It hasn't been fitted yet. Anyway, we all use cell phones and beepers these days."

  Josh glanced over to the odometer. "The clock reads over three thousand miles. You've been busy for one day."

  Jenks hesitated. "It's only new to the department.

  The city can't always afford new cars these days. Federal cuts to the city's budget. Not enough tax dollars."

  "Oh, yeah," Josh said suspiciously. "Those buttheads on Capitol Hill don't know their ass from their elbow."

  Jenks blurted out a laugh. "Yeah, I like that."

  Where's this guy taking me? Josh decided it was advisable to be aware of what was happening outside the car as well as what was happening inside. They were still on 1-5 northbound heading toward downtown.

  Josh shot a glance at Jenks's waist. His sport jacket was splayed open and exposed his trim gut. He wore no shoulder holster and no gun was to be seen. Something cold and clammy crept up Josh's spine with small hard fingers. He had no idea who he was sitting next to, but he wasn't law enforcement. Perspiration formed on Josh's brow.

  The Chevy peeled off 1-5 and traveled east on J

  Street. Jenks threaded the car through the grid of streets that constructed the downtown district. The familiar and comfortingly populated blocks became increasingly desolate as they entered the partly derelict and unused commercial areas scarred by the light rail lines.

  They were a long way from police headquarters and this part of town had nothing to do with Margaret Macey or the Dixon job. Fear charged through Josh's system.

  "Could I call my wife on your phone?" Josh asked.

  "I think she'll be wondering where I am."

  "No. In a few moments our business will be complete."

  Josh

  smelled it. The smell was the stink of his own sweat in the air-conditioned chill of the car's cabin.

  Was Jenks aware of the manifestation of his fear? It didn't matter how much he put up a strong defense, his body ratted him out. To Josh the odor was gathering momentum, so he squeezed his arms tight against his body. Disgustingly, the dampness spread further over his armpits and down his sides, soaking into dry shirt material.

  Josh glanced at Jenks. If he wasn't a cop, who was he?

  James Mitchell's partner? In retrospect, nothing made Jenks an officer of the law. He had the suspicion he was being taken to meet James Mitchell. He didn't care to be around to find out whether he was right or not.

  The Malibu slowed and came to a gentle stop at the intersection. Jenks surveyed the road, waiting for the sporadic traffic to clear. Josh took his chance. Simultaneously, he punched the safety belt release and yanked on the door handle. The belt recoiled, making a whizzing sound like a bottle rocket. The door lock clunked and the door opened. Josh made for the street.

  A ratcheting click came from behind. Jenks produced a gun from God knows where and roughly stuck it in Josh's face. Josh felt the coldness of hard metal against his cheek. The smell of oil and burnt firecrackers filled his nose. He flicked his eyes to the black pistol jammed hard against his flesh. The weapon rubbed uncomfortably against his cheekbone and the gun felt as heavy as it looked.

  "Now, Mr. Michaels. Close the door and buckle up.

  Our journey isn't over--yet," Jenks said without irritation, but there was a hardness to the word "yet" that could crack diamonds.

  Josh's escape had amounted to a half-opened door and one foot on the doorsill. He sat back in his seat and closed the door with Jenks' gun muzzle pressed against his cheek. He fastened the seatbelt and Jenks drove across the intersection.

  "No more thrills, Josh. I hope you don't mind me calling you Josh?"

  Josh said nothing and stared straight ahead.

  "Just so we understand each other." Jenks shoved the gun into Josh's groin.

  Josh winced at the intrusion.

  "Move it and lose it," Jenks snarled.

  The car bounced over the light rail crossing onto cracked asphalt. A layer of rubble from a nearby demolition site coated the road. The pieces crackled against the underside of the car as they bounced over another poorly covered, unused rail line. The gun muzzle bounced between Josh's thighs. He gasped in fear of the weapon going off by accident.

  Jenks heard the gasp, looked at Josh and laughed. "I suppose I should be careful with your valu-balls," he said and laughed again.

  Jenks made a left and drove the car down an alley between two vacant, whitewashed factories. The signs were long since gone, giving anonymity to the last occupants.

  The

  car came to a halt behind a Dumpster. "Time for business," Jenks said. He pressed both of the seat belt releases and the belts whizzed back against the door pillars. "Get out."

  Jenks removed the semiautomatic from Josh's crotch and both men climbed from the car. He motioned with the pistol for Josh to move. Josh moved ahead of the car with his head cocked over his shoulder at Jenks several feet behind.

  A smile cracked across Jenks's angular face. "I bet you have no idea what this is about, do you?"

  Josh thought for a moment. "You're right. To be honest I haven't a clue."

  "Well, I'm not going to explain it all, but you're worth a lot of money to some people."

  What was this guy talking about? He wasn't worth anything to anyone. All he had was his life insurance and Kate and Abby were the beneficiaries. "Who?"

  "That's not important, but what is ... is that you have to be dead for them to get it. Get it?"

  Jenks came closer to Josh. Josh made tentative steps backward. Seeing Josh squirm, the killer smiled and holstered the gun in the back of his pants.

  "But first you'll have to be roughed up a little," he said.

  Josh stopped and stared beyond Jenks and the Malibu.

  Slowly, a car rounded the corner into the alley.

  Oh, my God, a witness, Josh thought. He was saved.

  Jenks couldn't try anything now. Not with someone else around. The tension drained from him.

  The white Ford's driver stamped on the gas and the car's engine roared. The sedan accelerated under full power, tires spitting debris and kicking up plumes of dust in its wake.

  The car wasn't coming to save him. It was coming straight for them.

  Josh bolted. Without thought or plan he pounded down the alley away from Jenks and the charging Ford.

  Forgetting Josh, Jenks whipped around to face the speeding car and in one fluid motion, he jacked out the semiautomatic from the back of his pants. Snapping into a shooter's stance, he readied the gun to fire.

  Jenks never had a chance. As he aimed to fire, the car was upon him. Before releasing a shot, the Ford struck him head-on.

  The car took his legs from under him, breaking them below the knees. His head thudded into the hood as he collapsed forward on broken legs. The velocity of the car and the angled windshield flipped Jenks over the top. He somersaulted one an
d a half times before crashing to the ground on his back. The car came to a skidding halt, the rear snapping around to overtake the front. The driver got out of the Ford, a gun in his hand, readied for use.

  Josh ducked into an empty factory for cover and stared through the broken windows. He saw the driver get out of the car after mowing down Jenks.

  "You've got to be kidding." He couldn't believe who stood over Jenks. It was James Mitchell. The indestructible cockroach had appeared out of the woodwork again. Josh had to be content with seeing the play unfold, since he couldn't hear what was being said. Some thing

  nailed his feet to the floor. He had to see what Mitchell would do next. He'd thought Jenks and Mitchell were partners, but Mitchell had just run him down. Now, he didn't know what to think. Everything was thrown into the mix and he had yet to make something else from the ingredients.

  Mitchell finished speaking to Jenks. He fired the gun twice into Jenks's face. At the sight of the spearheads of flame leaving the gun, Josh jerked twice in shock.

  He'd seen enough and ran. He burst out the other side of the building into another alley and turned left, away from the killers. At the end of the alley, he came to a scrabbling halt. He had a choice--left or right. He chose right and ran to where the alley narrowed to less than the width of a car.

  The alley ended and Josh found himself in the quiet of a residential street with a cafe and other businesses occupying the corners. The street had old factories on one side and seedy-looking, poorly kept townhouses on the other. Cars beyond their prime littered the roadsides.

  People were absent from the thoroughfare.

  He stopped running. The only noises to be heard were the sound of his heart pounding against his ribcage and the sharp wracking breaths tearing in and out of his lungs. New sweat intermingled with old, coating his entire body. He wanted to stop, catch his breath, but there was no time. He looked as if he'd run a marathon in his work clothes. Josh disappeared into the alleys and side streets to safety.

  The professional had chosen to keep an eye on Josh Michaels today, although it wasn't necessary. He'd done all he needed to eliminate Michaels. The wheels were in motion and it was inevitable that the train would roll over his hapless victim. Interest, more than anything else, made him keep up his surveillance on Michaels. Today was funeral day, or so it seemed. The Michaels family, dressed in black, set off in their cars.