by A. R. Braun
Don wasn’t going to worry about his life though. It was about time things had started going his way. He lay there, infatuated and ready to fall in love with this luscious creature so enamored with him. He daydreamed of the perfect date — a hug following—the second date kiss, the lovemaking on the third date, and even walking down the aisle with her, plus the perfect children that would come from it.
He didn’t sleep much that night.
***
Don didn’t know it, but the deity’s wings flapped electricity from the hotel’s roof and brought a violent thunderstorm. The paleface mercifully slept through the whole event while a god beyond comprehension spun a spider web of razors and spikes that mapped out Don’s future… in dreaded degrees.
Now is the time for me to rise with the pride of the plains. And later…
All the god could do was laugh, which crashed as a lightning bolt right outside the paleface’s window.
… their devastation will be my orgasm.
CHAPTER 7
Don realized he’d lose his mind if he stayed in his office. He told his secretary he was going on a hearts and mind mission and worked his way down the hall. Don entered the room where his research team toiled away, trying out the newest Pentium microprocessor on brand-new computers. Bill Steele, a pugnacious new-hire with short black hair, a plump build and black horn-rim glasses, turned and glared at him as he looked over his shoulder.
Don walked away. “Looking good, Bill. You’re doing everything right.” Except the attitude. He shivered a bit because they cranked the air-conditioning as if it was eighty degrees.
“Jones’n douche bag,” Bill muttered under his breath.
A couple of female workers — big redheaded and brunet Betsys — giggled.
Don stopped and turned around. “Excuse me? You say something, Bill?”
“No, nothing.”
Don walked over and tapped on Bill’s seat a couple of times. “In the conference room, now.”
Bill furrowed his brow as he turned halfway around in his chair. “Why?”
“You know why. Come on.”
Bill sighed and stomped over to him while sizing him up. Don strode through the door. Bill followed him down the hall, and Don used the key card. No one inhabited the conference room. He motioned for him to come in and sit down. Bill did so, and Don walked over and sat across from him.
Bill’s smarmy face twisted up as his beady little eyes pinned his boss. “What’d I do?”
“I heard what you said,” Don answered.
He shrugged. “So? What do you expect? You’re the man.”
“Bill, I like you. You’re a good employee: you’re always here on time and you get your work done. It’s not part of your job to like me, and that’s fine. But I won’t put up with insults like the one you just hurled. Understood?”
“I was just muttering something under my breath. You tryin to get me in trouble?”
Don wiped his face with his hand as if to wipe away the daft situation. “I’m trying to avoid trouble. So, if you don’t like me, and you think of me as a dink or whatever — ”
“Jones’n douche bag,” Bill corrected.
Don sighed. “Yes, that. Keep it to yourself from now on. This is important work we’re doing, and I don’t want anything to sabotage it.”
Bill stared him down. Don cleared his throat and looked away. When he glanced back, Bill had his finger on his chin as if he were considering this. “Fine by me, boss.”
“Let’s get back to work then.”
Bill pushed his bulky frame up from the desk and walked through the door after Don had risen and inserted the card.
“Weak stick,” Bill said.
Don stopped cold. “Again? Seriously?”
Bill turned around, gritting his teeth. He got in Don’s face until their noses touched, then pointed his finger at him. “You better stop trying to get me in trouble, pal! I’ll — ”
Don’s least favorite worker blanched, then gaped. Bill’s wide eyes rolled back into his head, and he fell backward onto the floor, making a loud thud that shook the windows. Bill took no action to break his fall, just went straight down like a domino. As if someone had struck him dead.
Don stood there, staring.
I should probably check his vitals.
“Bill? Are you all right? Bill!” Don bent down and checked his pulse, also putting his hand over his mouth to see if he had any breath in him. He didn’t register. Don tried CPR, but nothing came of it.
Bill was stone dead.
Beads of sweat erupted on Don’s forehead. He turned toward the other offices. “Help! Somebody call an ambulance!”
A few of his subordinates came out of their office, running toward Don.
“What’s going on?” one of the brunet Betsys asked.
“He fell over,” Don answered. “Call nine-one-one.”
Goggle-eyed, she obeyed.
Bob Tides, Don’s immediate supervisor, opened his office door and hurried over. He bore a bald, shiny head and a tubby exterior stuffed into a Brooks Brothers suit. He forked him the evil eye after he gawked at the corpse. “What’s going on here? Did you deck him?”
“No,” Don answered. “I pulled him aside about insubordination. We were done talking and headed back to the testing facility. Then he just… fell over.”
“Hmm.” Bob crouched and also checked the man’s vitals. He looked at Don with raised brows.
“I already tried CPR,” Don said.
Bob nodded, but frowned.
“Seriously, Bob, I just had a little talk with the guy, and he keeled over.”
“I believe you. There’s no split lip, broken nose or teeth missing.” He rose and put a comforting hand on Don’s shoulder. “The guy probably had a heart attack or a stroke, damn cigarettes. Don’t worry. The paramedics will take care of it.”
A bigger crowd formed in the hallway. They gasped and asked each other what was going on. The CEO would have to hear about this. Any minute now, he’d be in the hallway, telling everyone to get back to work. The wail of an ambulance rang out in the distance.
Thank goodness Bob believes me, but will everyone else?
That old anxiety stirred up Don’s nerves again. What if his co-workers thought he’d driven his underling to a heart attack?
As the paramedics rushed through the hallway, Don again wondered about his beliefs.
Who’s helping me? That does it; it’s time to find out.
***
Don had a hard day explaining himself to the police and the CEO, the latter named James Menninger, a bald and wrinkled Vietnam vet with black eyes of hate. Mercifully, they believed him and assured Don he could get back to work. Because of the backup, tasks didn’t get done that should’ve. After Don’s shift, he drove in silence, taking swift glances toward the desert, where the forty MPH winds seemed to be trying to blow his car over, and the dust devils were phantoms that chased him. The gorgeous mountains had changed color again, almost as an afterthought. When Don finally got to the hotel room, he slammed his briefcase on the bed and stood there with his hands on his hips, looking around the room.
“All right, I was wrong to be an atheist, you hear me? Wrong! Who are you and why are you helping me?”
Silence answered nothing.
“Are you hiding?” Don turned the place upside-down, looking in the closets, under the bed and in the bathroom. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!” He found nothing peculiar.
Don stopped cold.
Have I lost my mind? Why would a god hide from me?
He shook his head.
I’m just stressed-out. At least I hope that’s all it is.
Don stared at his balcony through the sliding glass doors. As if in answer to his thought, scorpions filled his patio. They crept forward and fought for purchase as they tried to get into the room, where, if they did, they’d sting Don over and over. Forget your nervous system, you pithy man, your life is ours for the taking.
�
��Oh, shit!” Don backed up until he bumped into the desk by the TV. “What the…?”
He wondered how often these creatures sneaked into people’s homes around here, ready to erase human lives while the residents slept unaware, an unsettling thought. Hairs stood on end at the back of his neck.
He picked up the phone. “This is Don Rack in two-oh-six. I’ve got a bunch of scorpions crawling all over my patio. Yes, scorpions. I don’t know how they got up here! Just send someone to take care of it, all right? Thank you.”
Don hung up and sighed. He dropped into a chair and stared at the scorpions.
God’s creatures, I guess. If the Big Guy does exist, He must have one hell of a sense of humor.
***
The Mexican-American bellhop with a bucket, a dustpan broom and high-water, rubber boots stood at his patio door, scratching his head. He turned toward Don, who’d taken a seat at the desk and proceeded to get a sugar overdose from a cola he’d bought from the machine in the hallway. The aftertaste made a mockery of his taste buds.
The bellhop said in a heavy accent, “No scorpions, sir.”
Don blinked. “What?”
Standing there scratching his head, telling me the scorpions aren’t there that are there, and I hope this isn’t the fucknut that’ll be running the place in a few years.
The bellhop motioned toward the patio. Don got up and looked. It was clear, as if he’d imagined the whole thing.
“Mario” was on the nametag. He looked at Don with sad eyes. “You feel all right, sir?”
Don put his hand over his mouth. Fear reared its ugly head again. This guy thinks I’m insane. Good God, maybe I am. The imaginary scorpions sure gave credence to the notion that he’d lost his mind. “They were just — ”
“I don’t see how they could’ve gotten up here, sir. They come on the ground.”
Don nodded and pulled a clean hanky out of his breast pocket, dabbing his sweat-slicked face. “Sorry about that.”
Mario looked at the patio one more time, then at Don. “If you have a problem again, sir, let us know, kay?”
“Sure.” Don tipped the guy a few bucks.
Mario started, recoiling. “I didn’t do anything, sir.”
Don waved him off. “For your trouble.”
Mario still didn’t understand and Don sighed.
“For coming up here,” Don added.
“Thank you kindly.” Mario pocketed the money. “Good day, sir.” He made for the door, frowning at him before shutting it.
Don couldn’t tear his glance from the patio floor. He expected the scorpions to appear again to mock him, but they didn’t. The room was silent, then the girls upstairs started squealing. Exasperated, Don threw his hands up and slapped them down at his sides.
“Ask a stupid question, huh?”
He hobbled on shaky legs across the room and lay down on the bed as the girls continued to thunder upstairs.
“Hang on,” he whispered to himself. “This is Thursday. My date with Fay is tomorrow, and Saturday I start house hunting. I’ve got too much to do to worry about an infernal god.”
But he did worry. He couldn’t have everyone that had a problem with him at Intel falling over dead. They’d start calling him Don Rack, the Great God of Wrath. They’d already called him Don Rack, the Great God of Rain at his jobs in Illinois because thunderclouds always seemed to follow him everywhere he went.
That decided him. He’d already found his woman, so there was no need to go to the bar, but the liquor store would do.
Thirsty fucking Thursday.
CHAPTER 8
Don woke with the hangover of his life; it pounded his head like a migraine. He threw up in the hotel’s throne and rushed off to work. The warm sun smacked him in the face, then he endured the most challenging workday ever, the team striving to catch up on yesterday’s tasks while Don watched over them, thinking someone might as well have strapped a bowling ball to his upper ten pounds of body fat.
Just before quitting time, a rap came to Don’s office door. He sighed.
What now? I hope it’s not the cops wanting to talk to me about Bill’s death. It must have been you! You yelled and brought on the heart failure! Good cop, bad cop shit at Intel.
“Come in.”
Bob Tides entered, brandishing a white-toothed grin. Bob shuffled toward the desk after shutting the door, then stopped and held the smile. He looked Don over after adjusting his glasses. “How the hell are ya? Your team get caught up on that work?”
“Oh, fair-to-midland. They’ll be caught-up in about five minutes.”
Bob’s eyes brightened but showed a hint of fear. “Good.” He motioned toward one of the two chairs in front of Don’s desk. “Can I sit?”
Don motioned toward them also, wanting to say nothing because of his mood but finding himself uttering, “Take a load off.”
Bob’s wide eyes never blinked or looked away. “I tell ya…” There was more than a smidgen of anxiety in his voice. “… you’re working out well here. I’ve never seen someone take to this job like you have. And you didn’t let Bill get the best of you. I heard from your subordinates that he was giving you a hard time. I’ve also heard good things from your research team. You could’ve escalated, but did you? No. I think it’s time to move you up the ladder.”
Confusion made Don’s mind do a flip. “Er… move me… what?”
Bob nodded emphatically. “I know, I know, this is moving along quickly, but you’ve got the right stuff. And relocating all the way from Illinois! If that isn’t gusto, what the hell is?” He uttered a lunatic laugh.
The sun shone in Don’s window so vehemently the orb’s surge of heat warmed his back. The ray of light highlighted all the papers on his desk and his computer to such a sickening degree, he had to get up and pull the blinds.
Then it hit him.
They’re doing this because they’re scared of me. I get angry, someone dies, and they’ve figured it out. Bill was in perfect health before I came along. Not a slow-witted corporation at all, no sir. But I can’t let them do this. It’s nonsense.
Don met Bob’s eyes. “With all due respect, sir — and don’t think I’m complaining because I’m not — I just got here. Don’t you think you should wait and make sure I work out in the long run?”
Bob waved him off and let out a nervous laugh. “Hell of a guy! Modest. No, you deserve it, you really do.” Then he cackled.
If I only had one of those mini tape recorders so this guy could hear how insane he sounds.
“What kind of added responsibilities are we talking about?”
Bob snatched a hanky from his breast pocket and wiped a bit of perspiration from his brow. The man looked like he was sweating bullets and could pour out a whole armory on cue. “You’ll be project coordinator with our memory department also, and they’ll need to get approval from you before a project is finished. You’ll get more bonuses and full benefits.”
Good God. This company’s scared to death of me.
Don realized his headache had flown away. He smiled while he tapped a pen on the desk. “How about I take the weekend to mull it over?”
Another nervous laugh, and then Bob pointed at him. “You drive a hell of a bargain. Take all the time you need. You know where I am.” Bob dabbed his forehead again, then rose and headed for the door. He stopped after opening it. “Have yourself a great weekend, and I’ll see you on Monday.”
Don realized he was smiling — couldn’t help it. “You do the same.”
After a wave, Bob was gone, closing the door behind him.
Don chuckled. “Give Ativan a chance.”
***
On the drive over to Fay’s house, Don’s relationship with the goddess seemed surreal, like it had happened to somebody else. The dying embers of sunlight faded to an orange glow that eked out enough annoying rays to make him pull down the sun visor. Testament sang about “The New Order,” and that was about right, the way Don’s life had gone lately. He passed th
e biker bar where the same amount of long-haired Native-American toughs lurked outside. The troglodytes gabbed with one another as they stood beside their bikes.
Ten little Indian boys!
Don chuckled, shook his head and even waved, just to see what they’d do.
Big mistake. They stepped ahead of their bikes, shouting expletives and flipping him the bird, but even those sad sacks couldn’t ruin his mood tonight. He put his foot down on the gas pedal and took a couple of turns to divert any chase they might give, taking the scenic route.
When he pulled into the driveway of the small fixer-upper, Fay sat on the stoop in shorts and a halter-top. She looked so delicious, Don’s mouth watered. She flashed him a smile as if she was starring in a commercial for whitening toothpaste and walked over with her purse slung over her shoulder. She turned and waved to an obese woman in curlers, most likely her mother.
Fay had to have been adopted.
Don had the stereo turned down to a dull roar. He wore a polo shirt and slacks, along with sandals. He got out of the car and opened her door for her.
Fay giggled. “Hugs!”
Don gladly conceded and held her soft frame. Cherry Vanilla perfume soothed his nostrils. Her curves felt so good against him, Mr. Happy snaked into an erection.
She giggled again as she broke the embrace. “Did you miss me?”
“Did I ever,” Don answered. “You ready?”
Fay looked over her shoulder where Momma stood with her arms crossed. “More than ready like an hour ago.”
Don laughed.
Fay looked just fetching in her halter. Her bra-straps showed. While some might think that tacky, Don considered it the sexiest thing in the world. Her twenty-two-year-old skin didn’t dare show a blemish, and her pert breasts stretched the top, practically inducing him to tears.
Fay hopped in. “Such a gentleman.” Her tanned legs, caramel brown and enchanting, showed she either sunbathed in the backyard or gave the tanning salon a ton of business.
Don gawked at her legs before he shut her door. Feeling like a high-school kid, he trotted around to the driver’s side and climbed behind the wheel. He put his hand over the top of her seat, then backed out.
