Accidents Waiting to Happen

by Simon Wood

Nancy blew a kiss back.

  “Can I get you guys a drink?” Josh asked. They nodded and Josh removed three bottles of beer from the

  freshly stocked ice bucket and popped the caps.

  “Happy thirty-eighth,” Bob said, producing an envelope from his back pocket.

  Josh had a bemused look on his face when he

  opened the envelope. The present was a gift certificate for adult swimming lessons. “You bastard,” he said, grinning.

  “I thought you’d like it. I’m glad to see you smiling again,” Bob said.

  “Happy birthday, Josh!” a man holding Abby’s

  hand called. He was in his early fifties, small, no more than five-five. He was slight and as thin as the silver hair that covered his balding scalp.

  “Good to see you, Mark,” Josh called back.

  “I thought I’d show my face.” Abby let go of his

  hand and bounded off.

  “Bob, you know Mark Keegan,” Josh said, and Bob

  nodded in agreement. “And this is a colleague of

  Bob’s, James Mitchell.”

  The men shook hands.

  “I brought you a couple bottles of wine. I thought I should, seeing as you owe me money. We still on for tomorrow?”

  Mark asked, giving the bottles to Josh.

  “Yeah, and I’ll bring a check with me.” Josh put the bottles on the table with the rest of the alcohol.

  “How is that plane of yours?” Bob asked.

  “We just had it serviced, so it’s as good as new.

  That’s what the money’s for,” Mark said.

  “So you’ve got a plane?” James said, breaking into the conversation.

  “Yeah, a little Cessna C152 we bought four years

  ago. It needed some work, but we got it at a good price,” Mark explained.

  “Mark and I learned to fly at the same time, so we went partners on a plane,” Josh added.

  “Yeah, you can’t miss it, either. Fancy paint job with their names on the doors like they’re a pair of top gun aces,” Bob joked.

  “We had a bit of luck,” Josh said. “We fly out of the Davis airstrip and a kid from the college there overheard us talking about repainting the plane. He offered to paint a design on it for a school project and we said yeah. All we had to pay for was the materials.”

  “That

  kid did a great job, it really stands out,”

  Mark said.

  “I’ve flown a couple of times, but I don’t have a license,”

  James said.

  “Come out with us some time,” Mark said.

  “No, I’m only here until Monday,” James explained.

  “Oh, I thought you worked with Bob,” Mark said.

  “No, I’m an agent with Pinnacle Investments visiting some of the brokers in California.”

  “You work for Pinnacle Investments?” Josh asked.

  He wasn’t about to let one of their employees get away.

  “I’ve got a big bone to pick with you.”

  “Well, if you people have business, I think I’ll give my best to Kate. I’ll see you about ten tomorrow,”

  Mark said, excusing himself.

  Josh nodded to him. “I’ll catch you later.”

  “What’s up, pal?” Bob asked.

  “Thursday, Pinnacle Investments sent Kate a funeral wreath to the house with my name on it,” Josh said angrily.

  “Jesus, how did that happen?” Bob asked.

  “That’s what I wanted him.to tell me.”

  “I haven’t spoken to Pinnacle,” Bob said in his defense.

  “Christ, I’m sorry, man. That’s the last thing you needed.”

  “I don’t know how it could have happened,” James

  said. “Please let me apologize on behalf of the firm. Let me make a phone call now. There won’t be anyone

  there, but I can leave a voice mail so they get it first thing Monday. Can I go into the house to make the call?”

  “Yeah, no problem,” Josh said sharply.

  James Mitchell went into the house. Josh and Bob

  were alone together, the first time since the sports bar.

  They looked gravely at each other, their minds full of unspoken thoughts.

  “How did it go with Bell?” Bob whispered.

  “I paid her, but she’s not going to stop.” Josh sighed and his anger fizzled out.

  What does she want?”

  “As far as I can see, just to screw me over.”

  “You know this’ll never end unless you do something.”

  “Of course I know that.”

  “Then what are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I think it’s time to tell the truth. It’s the only way to stop this.”

  “Oh, shit,” Josh muttered.

  His response wasn’t to Bob’s comment, but as a reaction to who he saw over Bob’s shoulder. Belinda

  Wong walked toward him, hand-in-hand with Abby.

  The color drained from Josh’s face.

  “She’s here,” Josh whispered.

  “What?” Bob turned in the direction of Josh’s gaze.

  “What’s she doing here?”

  “I think we’re going to find out.”

  Josh left Bob by the beer bucket. He intercepted his blackmailer and daughter before they got too near the other partygoers.

  “Daddy, this is Bell. It’s short for Belinda,” Abby said.

  “I know, sweetie,” Josh said with a plastic smile.

  “Hi, Josh. Happy birthday,” Bell said.

  “Thanks, Bell.” Josh hugged his ex-mistress and

  kissed her cheek. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  he whispered into her ear.

  “Having fun,” she whispered back.

  Josh broke the hug.

  “It’s so good to see you,” Bell said.

  “I think you’ve done enough meeting and greeting

  for awhile. You deserve a reward. Why don’t you see Mommy?” Josh told his daughter.

  Abby ran off toward her mother, weaving in and out of the crowd like a wide receiver making a run for the end zone.

  “That’s a lovely girl you’ve got there, Josh, so pretty, so innocent, so trusting. I would hate to think what it would be like for her if her heart were broken. It would be hard to see that pretty face through those tears. I bet you’d do anything to prevent that.”

  “I would kill if necessary,” Josh said.

  “Would you now?” Bell smirked at Josh’s poor show of strength. “Let’s hope you’re never put to the test.”

  “Yeah, let’s hope so.”

  “Could I have a drink?”

  Josh and Bell walked toward the drinks table and Bell slipped an arm into his. Josh shot her a look of rage.

  “Now, now, Josh. Play it cool, we have an image to portray. You don’t want these good people to suspect anything.”

  Josh poured her a white wine.

  “It’s Belinda Wong, isn’t it?” Kate said, walking over to them from the barbecue.

  “Yes it is, Kate. How are you?”

  Josh stood stone still with the bottle of wine in his hands. Don’t say anything, please. He sent telepathic messages to Bell, hoping she wouldn’t blow the whistle on him. Fear prevented him from producing a smile.

  “I thought you were in San Diego,” Kate said.

  “I was, but I’ve come back.” Bell turned her head to Josh, smiled cruelly, then looked back at Kate. “I miss my old friends.”

  “Have you got a job?”

  “No, but I was hoping that Josh could help me.”

  “Well, I’m sure he could put in a good word for you.”

  “Yeah, but like I was telling Bell, there aren’t any open jobs at the moment, so she’ll have to keep looking.”

  He managed to make his words sound strong and

  convincing. Not a hint of his fear showed.

  “Josh, I can’t believe you didn’t me
ntion Bell was back. You always said she was your best secretary.”

  Kate winked at Bell.

  Bell grinned at the embarrassment Kate brought to her husband.

  It was obscene, watching his wife playacting with his ex-mistress. Watching the macabre play was excruciating, but relief was soon to come. “I’ve only just found out myself.”

  “Kate, have you got a minute? Sorry to interrupt.” A woman’s voice called from a group of people nearby.

  Kate excused herself and left, attending to the woman’s needs.

  “At least someone is happy to see me,” Bell said, watching Kate go.

  “Are you going now that you’ve had your fun?” Josh asked.

  “No, of course not. The night is young. I think I’ll mingle for awhile if you don’t mind.”

  “I do mind.”

  She snorted. “Well, I don’t care. Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell on you. Your money bought my silence for now.”

  Bell refreshed her glass. Josh watched her turn on her heel and strike up a conversation with a group of his friends. What does she have in store for me? All he knew was that it wasn’t going to be good.

  It was a small room, poorly furnished with an eclectic combination of bargain basement purchases and long held possessions now in a state of disrepair. The room smelled of musty neglect. The telephone rang on the small table next to the armchair in the living room.

  The old woman shuffled in from the kitchen. Even

  this small exertion resulted in wheezing. She mumbled “Hold your horses,” to the ringing phone before collapsing into the chair and picking up the receiver.

  She hit the Mute button on the television remote.

  “Hello?”

  “Is this Margaret Macey?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Hi, I represent Mutual Life, Mrs. Macey. I was

  wondering if I could speak to you about life insurance for senior citizens.”

  Margaret got as far as, “I’m not really—”

  “Good, I’ll only take a few minutes of your time,”

  he said, ignoring her.

  “Mrs. Macey, our records show you are a senior citizen.

  You must think about having to make provisions

  for others when your time comes.”

  “No, not really.”

  “Do you have children, Mrs. Macey?”

  “Yes, I have a daughter in New York.”

  “Do you know the average cost of a funeral nowadays?”

  “No,

  I don’t.”

  “It’s over three thousand dollars.” The telemarketer’s voice rose two octaves to drive the point home. “Now, does that seem a fair price to burden your loved one with? Does it?” the terminally happy telemarketer asked.

  “Well, no, but—”

  “No buts, Mrs. Macey. Now this is where Mutual

  Life Insurance comes in. We will provide for you a low cost life insurance that will serve as a lasting reminder to your family of your generosity.”

  The pitch was made and Margaret imagined the telemarketer’s toothpaste advertisement smile shining into

  the telephone.

  “I’m not really interested.”

  “Oh, come on, Margaret. Can I call you Margaret?

  It’s only ten dollars a month. I’m sure it’s not a lot to ask for peace of mind, is it now, eh, Margaret?”

  “I don’t really have ten dollars to spare.”

  “Oh, Margaret. I think you could afford ten bucks. I don’t think anyone would miss ten bucks. What do you say, Margaret? Can I put you down? We can do the paperwork over the phone, right now. Come on, Margaret,

  what do you say? What do you say?”

  The telemarketer offended her by trying to manipulate her just for the sake of his commission. Surely

  these people are answerable to some government department, she thought. She had a good mind to contact someone.

  “No, I’m sorry, I’m not interested,” Margaret said, her tone abrupt.

  “Not interested? Not interested! You selfish bitch.”

  Bile replaced the telemarketer’s sickly sweet demeanor.

  Her breath caught in her throat. It took a moment before she could speak again. “What?”

  “No wonder your daughter lives in New York. She

  probably can’t stand being near a twisted old bitch like you. Why don’t you just die? You’d be doing the planet a favor. You’re only taking up oxygen good people like me need to breathe.”

  The vile words burned the inside of Margaret’s head.

  People didn’t speak to people like this. She wanted to hang up, but her shock kept the phone pressed to her ear.

  “How dare you talk to me like that. I’ll report you to your superiors.” Margaret’s voice broke and tears built up behind her eyes.

  “Oh, but I do dare, Margaret,” he said, his voice controlled and level. “I’ve been watching you, Margaret.

  Oh, yes, I’ve been watching you for awhile now.

  You live in that shitty little house of yours. God knows what you find to do in there. You only ever go out to go to the store. I’ve seen you waiting for the bus, hunched up against the bus stop. Have you ever noticed how the people on the bus look at you? They see you and they think, Christ, I hope I never get to be like that. I hope someone will kill me first.”

  “That’s not true.” Margaret struggled to speak

  through the sobs that shook her body. She wanted to put the phone down, but she was too frightened of what the telemarketer would do if she hung up.

  “How’s that heart of yours? When’s it going to give out? I do hope it’s soon.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Maybe you should be asking where am I?” He let

  that sink in before he broke into laughter.

  Margaret leapt from the chair and tottered over to the window, receiver in hand. The telephone cord

  stretched to its full limit, sending the table with the phone on it crashing to the floor.

  “Was that you, Margaret?”

  She sniffed. “No, I’m still here.”

  “What a shame. I’ll be coming to see you. I want to see the look on your face when you die.”

  “I’m going to call the police.”

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I’ll know when they come and I’ll take action if you do.”

  “What action?”

  “Deadly.”

  Josh crossed the yard to where Bob stood. His overweight friend was the center of attention in a circle of five people. He’d tried to talk to Bob right after Bell left him, but two colleagues interrupted him to introduce their wives.

  Josh arrived to find Bob at the tail end of one of his jokes. He was a good joke teller, although not all of them were in good taste. In his hands were the

  weapons of a good partygoer—a beer and a burger.

  Bob gesticulated with the booze and food to enhance his performance.

  “When I go down, I go down in flames,” Bob said in a bad French accent.

  The group laughed loudly at the joke. Josh smiled.

  He’d heard that one before. He placed his hands on Bob’s fleshy shoulders. “Can I relieve you of this very funny man?”

  The people agreed on the condition that he brought him back. Before he could take Bob away, the group engaged him about his recent accident. Josh underplayed the magnitude of the event and the fear he had

  experienced. He didn’t want to talk to them. He had bigger problems with which to deal.

  As they walked away from the crowd, Bob asked,

  “What did Bell want?”

  “She wants to mess with my head. A little reminder of what will happen if I don’t play by her rules.”

  They stood against the fence and watched the people enjoying the party.

  “Jesus, what a mess,” Josh said.

  Bob felt Josh’s despair spread across his friend like an approaching storm front. He wanted to tell Jos
h everything was going to be okay. But he wasn’t sure that was the case.

  “Let me talk to her,” Bob said.

  “There’s no point.”

  “There isn’t if you talk to her. She’s knows exactly how to yank your chain. It’s not like that with me.”

  “I don’t think you’ll get anywhere.”

  “That’s my problem. You go out there and talk to

  your friends. This is meant to be your party.”

  Josh looked at the crowd. It didn’t feel like a birthday.

  Well, not a good one at least. He wasn’t much in

  the mood for fun.

  “Put on a good show for everyone. Let them know

  everything is cool and show that bitch she isn’t getting to you.”

  “You’re a good friend, Bob.”

  “That’s nice. Now get out there, tell some jokes and for God’s sake, cheer up.” Bob shoved Josh in the back with both hands.

  Bob watched Kate and her friends welcome Josh and draw him into their discussion. He scanned the partygoers for the blackmailer. Alone at the drinks table, she was pouring herself a glass of wine. Bob appeared at Belinda Wong’s side and cracked open another beer.

  “Hi there,” Bob said.

  “Hello,” Bell replied.

  “I’m Bob Deuce, a good friend of Josh Michaels, and of Kate and Abby, of course.” Bob smiled and offered a hand.

  “Of course. I’m Belinda Wong. A pleasure to meet

  you, Bob.”

  Bob saw the coldness in her eyes. “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “Josh has mentioned you before.”

  “Yeah, I think we met a long time ago. You used to work for Josh.”

  A middle-aged couple arrived at the drinks table to interrupt Bob’s conversation. Bob and Bell moved out of their way.

  “Shall we?” Bob indicated they should move on with a swing of his arm, bottle in hand. He needed to get Bell alone. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

  “Yes, it’s a nice party, and you?” Bell gave him a hint of a smile, but her eyes were filled with suspicion.

  Bob took a swig from the bottle. “I wasn’t talking about the party.”

  Bell narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know what you

  mean.”

  “About you … coming here… uninvited. I know about you and Josh, and the money you extorted.” Bob gestured with the bottle.

  The coldness in her eyes bled into her expression and her words. “And what the hell has it got to do with you?”